Chronicles of Agarest War
by WS246
Summary: A dramatic novelization of Records of Agarest War starting from where it all began: Leonhardt's transformation into the first Spirit Vessel. Join Leonhardt and his descendents as they confront destiny and sacrifice everything to protect the world of Agarest.
1. The Spirit Vessel

**Author's Note: Record of Agarest War always struck me as a game with almost infinite potential. With an epic and generation-spanning storyline, memorable characters, and, at times, genuine emotion, the title was bogged down by repetitive game play and a lack of proper attention to the very elements that made it so appealing in the first place; it's story. Even before playing through the entire game, I realized that Records of Agarest War truly deserved a richer, more vibrant universe in which its characters could grow up, develop, and become solid, three-dimensional personalities. This fanfiction was written with that ambition in mind. Though the beginning is slow, I sincerely hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Updates will be as regular as I can manage and for any of you who stick with me for the long haul (I did say the story was epic), let me say now that I hope this story grows to meet your expectations. Your comments, concerns, feedback, and encouragement are, as always, welcome and received with gratitude.  
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**Record of Agarest War is a trademarked title to which I have no intellectual or financial claim. **

**Edit: Shout out to EderNimrais for catching my typo; there always seems to be one embarrassingly obvious one... Chapter 2 to be up tomorrow or the day after.**

* * *

"General Raglan, Sir, are you quite alright?"

"…Hmm?" Leonhardt jerked awake, accidentally knocking over the 4th battalion in the process. Looking up, he found Kasibal's face in equal parts concern and embarrassment.

"We've had a long march, I think the General speaks for all of us!" said Kasibal with forced humor to the rest of the war council, "We make camp here tonight. Have the men set sentries and get a good night's rest. Keep activity to a minimum. We're deep in the frontier and I'll not have the barbarians ambush our camp when we're this far from reinforcements. Dismissed!"

"Kasibal… I apologize," began Leonhardt as the war council dispersed. "I must have dozed off. Still, the strategy we discussed is solid, have our vanguard move up the river towards Dodone, that should draw the enemy out to engage. When they strike, our flanks will close and cut off their retreat…" he said, surreptitiously returning the 4th battalion to its place on the right flank.

"Yes, General, the men will be in position by the morning. Our scouts report that the barbarians have also made camp a half a day march away. We should be prepared to meet them on the field at midday."

"Very good. Was there something else Kasibal?" asked Leonhardt, arching his eyebrow at Kasibal's concerned expression."

"General Raglan, permission to speak freely?" ventured Kasibal.

"Always, and call me Leonhardt. How long have we been comrades in arms?" asked Leonhardt, clapping his hand on Kasibal's shoulder.

A smile broke over Kasibal's face, "Thank you, Si… Leonhardt." He looked to the distance thoughtfully, "I remember being assigned to your staff right out of officer school… Our deployment against the Maluka Rebels was my first. It was also the campaign that won you the title Golden Leo if I remember correctly."

"I haven't thought of those days in years…" Leonhardt sighed, "They were dark days… House Raglan had just fallen. They sent me, a general with no experience in command, with an entire regiment of recruits to put down the entire rebellion… I honestly think they did not expect us to return at all…"

"You won back your honor, even if not the honor of your House, Leonhardt. Besides, look at this new posting! The 11th regiment is one of the Empire's most experienced battle groups. They have been defending the Frontier for years."

"Kasibal… do you think it's the right thing to do?" Leonhardt asked, looking at the models and flags on the war map.

"…what are you asking, Leonhardt?"

"Look at each of these, Kasibal. We in command think only of battalions and regiments, effective strength, numbers and supplies. How often do we stop to think of the men they represent? And what of the 'barbarians' we face tomorrow? Are they not men too; do they not have their own families to think of? What could the Empire want with these woods that is worth thousands of grieving mothers and wives and families torn asunder? Leonhardt raised his eyes from the map to his Lieutenant's and saw a flicker of disquiet behind them.

"I know not what our Empire seeks in these woods, but I know we have our orders. We are soldiers, we fight for a day when our people will no longer need to fear for anything. When Gridamas stretches from sea to sea, our people and the people of this continent will know peace. Is that not what our armies have fought for since the beginning of our Empire?"

"…Perhaps… Kasibal, I know why you are concerned. It does not inspire confidence in the men when their general is in ill health. I will reassure them as best I can tomorrow before battle, but I confess I have been sleeping poorly as of the late. I… dream of pain and darkness engulfing our lands and when I am awake, I fear that I am at the head of that wave."

"Nonesense, Leonhardt. You are leading our Empire to a better future; your father would have been proud."

Leonhardt sighed, "I doubt that, he fought tooth and nail against the invasion of the Frontier when he was my age, before we drove the Syrium from our borders. At any rate, Night draws her cloak ever tighter; I have kept you too long with my talk of philosophy. Thank you Kasibal, that will be all tonight, please get some rest before tomorrow, we break camp at dawn."

* * *

Leonhardt panted and pulled his sword out from the frontiersman chest. It's golden finish shone through the rivulets of crimson that adorned it, a grisly reminder of the necessary evil it had been forged for. At his feet laid the Frontier army's general, his sword shattered by Leonhardt's killing blow and his standard trampled by his own retreating men.

"General! The barbarians have broken ranks! They mean to flee, shall I signal our flanks to engage them?" asked Kasibal.

Leonhardt looked across the field at the carnage. Easily two thousand men laid prone, some dead, many moaning. The barbarians had fought courageously and with discipline, but the day was Gridamas's. Leonhardt had taken to the front line of his own army. Besides inspiring confidence in his own men, it also afforded him the opportunity to seek out and face the opposing general, who apparently also subscribed to the lead by example theory. He had done his best to avoid needless death, ignoring those who cowered away from his golden blade and its reputation, and preferring to wound rather than kill. At last, Leonhardt found himself face to face with his opposing peer. As the two dueled, Leonhardt knew he could expect no quarter from the opposing general and had, in the end, taken the latter's life. With their general slain and half their number dead or wounded, the general's subordinates sounded the retreat and their men scattered to the woods they had charged out of. Seeing the proud and independent men of the Frontier running back to the safety of the woods with their tails between their legs, Leonhardt knew that their spirits had been broken and that Gridamas would be able to sue for peaceful annexation. There was sense in further death; better that they should live to bring the news to their homes and become citizens of the Empire.

"No, have the men take care of our wounded… and theirs. We have broken their spirits today. Those men who flee today will sue for peace with us tomorrow. We must now play the part of the gracious victors, let them see that our Empire is merciful…"

Kasibal opened his mouth to say something, but Leonhardt never heard what it was. A messenger suddenly burst out of the woods, "Sir! A message from the Capitol, Sir!"

Leonhardt took the scroll and broke the seal. "House Klavis's seal… what could they be up to… Damn!" Leonhardt's fist clenched, crushing the scroll. He turned to House Klavis's messenger, "Your Lord Klavis cannot possibly expect me to issue such an order! Execute all enemy wounded and terminate fleeing forces with extreme prejudice? These orders are mad and unnecessary!"

"Lord Klavis doesn't, Sir. Each of your regiment's commanding officers has received a copy of the orders. Lord Klavis took the liberty of giving your forces the final push they needed for a decisive victory. As a matter of fact, I believe he awaits your final report at the command tent."

Around him, Leonhardt could already hear the unsheathing of knives as "his" men accepted House Klavis's orders and began the cull. It was too late to help any of them, but their comrades fleeing in the forest might have still had a chance. "Soldier, I hereby requisition your mount. You are dismissed," said Leonhard, deftly pulling the messenger from his saddle and tossing him to the bloody mud of the battlefield. Taking one last look at the messenger's smug expression dissolve into one of rage and disgust, Leonhardt spurred the horse towards the retreating barbarians. If he rode quickly, he might yet intercept a messenger to one of his flanks and prevent the barbarians from being completely cut off and surrounded.

"Leonhardt!" Kasibal's voice cut after him.

_I'm sorry old friend… but I cannot let this come to pass. I will explain myself to you after it is done,"_ thought Leonhardt as his mount galloped past the tree line.

* * *

The forest's oppression fell upon Leonhardt like a hood over his head. The only sounds he could hear were the beats of his mount's hooves and the snapping of twigs as he brushed past. He let the horse do most of the steering, only aiming it in the general direction of his regiment's right flank. The more he thought of it, the more absurd it seemed to expect to catch a single messenger before he reached the right flank's commander, Musaka. Musaka was a consummate soldier, severe, but reliable. Leonhardt knew he could not expect him to disobey a direct order, but the man might listen to reason.

A sudden scream pierced the silence of the woods and Leonhardt's eyes widened in shock. It was a girl's voice! Judging from the pitch and timbre, she was no more than a child… Leonhardt instinctively jerked his horse's reins in the direction of the voice, startling the steed. The mount reared up on its hind legs in surprise and panic, throwing Leonhardt from the saddle, and galloped away before Leonhardt had a chance to react.

The fall knocked the wind from Leonhardt and he gritted his teeth against the pain from the fall. Fortunately, nothing felt broken and his sword still hung in its scabbard from his belt. With no more mount, Leonhardt could not possibly hope to catch up with the other messenger. Frustration threatened to burst through his chest, but he steadied himself. He had tried and failed to preserve as many lives on the battlefield as he could, but he would be damned if he could not even save the life of a single girl in danger. Hauling himself to his feet, he dusted off and ran towards the voice he had heard.

Leonhardt burst through the undergrowth, his heart in his throat. Whatever had caused the girl to scream, he prayed it had not yet harmed her and that he would have the strength to confront whatever it was. As he crashed through the one last thicket, his eyes fell upon the very man he was looking for in the first place. Musaka, the 4th battalion's captain, stood pointing a spear at an elven girl whom he and his men had apparently cornered. The girl was young, still a child. Her pink hair was covered in leaves and twigs from the brambles she had probably crawled through to try to escape from the soldiers. Though her dress and leggings had a few tears, Leonhardt could see no major life-threatening injuries.

"Musaka! What are you doing?!" demanded Leonhardt, coming to a halt between the spear's tip and the girl's fallen form.

"General, Sir. I have my orders… as do you… Sir."

"Musaka… can you not see what you are doing is savage? Look at the girl!" Leonhardt pointed at the basket she had dropped, "She was picking mushrooms! By the Gods, what possible reason could you have for pointing your spear at her?"

"She is an elf and therefore an enemy of our Empire. Our orders are to terminate any enemy presence we find; her sex and age are irrelevant."

"Listen to yourself! You cannot possibly want to obey such an order. These are no orders of mine, forget them. I order you and your men to lay down arms and let this girl pass. You will also withdraw your men from the field and return at once to the main host. They are not to engage any fleeing forces without being attacked first."

Musaka's eyes softened and, for an instant, Leonhardt saw the troubled soul of the man beneath the soldier. "What a soldier wants is of no concern. Lord Klavis has been granted supreme command by the Emperor himself, Sir. I cannot accept your orders. Stand aside, if you will not obey our Emperor's commands, I must. I can assure you the elf's death will be painless."

"Please… don't let him hurt me…" whimpered the girl behind Leonhardt.

Leonhardt turned his head and gave her a reassuring smile. If they were going to die, he would not have her die in fear. "Do not worry, they cannot harm you so long as I am here. I swear that I will protect you from any danger."

"Musaka! You leave me no choice... if you do not withdraw this instant, our blades must meet as foes," declared Leonhardt, drawing his golden blade.

Musaka's men took half a step back, glancing at each other and their commanding officer, but Musaka stood his ground, his spear tip steady. "To raise your blade against me is to raise it against Gridamas. Sheath it and walk away now and my men and I will never speak of this again."

Leonhardt raised his sword, pointing it squarely at Musaka's chest. "If becoming such a monster as one that would murder an innocent child is required of me to call myself Gridamas, then I hereby resign my commission and renounce my titles. You and your men will not harm this girl so long as I draw breath."

Musaka dropped into an attacking stance, coming at Leonhardt with a blinding series of thrusts and jabs, instantly forcing him on the defensive. Leonhardt had previously sparred with Musaka on several occasions, but both men knew this time was different. Steel on steel clanged as Leonhardt parried Musaka's thrusts with his sword. From the corners of his eyes, Leonhardt saw Musaka's men draw their own swords and close in. Using the flat of his sword, Leonhardt made one final parry, throwing Musaka off balance and pushing his spear to the right. The tip of the spear drove into the heart of one of the soldiers, who dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Pivoting on the spot, Leonhardt dodged a furious overhead blow from the soldier on his left. The soldier's blade splintered Musaka's spear and Leonhardt drove his own blade through the slit in the soldier's helmet. Gathering his remaining strength, Leonhardt withdrew his sword and rushed at Musaka, who dropped the now useless spear and struggled to draw his own sword. Before his sword had the chance to clear it's scabbard, however, Leonhardt's shoulder connected with his chest piece and Musaka fell to the ground. Without a second's hesitation, Leonhardt slammed his boot down, pinning Musaka's sword arm to the ground and pointed his sword at his captain's throat.

Musaka's eyes betrayed no fear as he stared into Leonhardt's. "Finish me, Golden Leo. It is a soldier such as I whose fate it is to die by another's blade."

"It is a man such as you that deserves peace. You take no pleasure in war, but discipline has forced your hand. It was better this way, for you have not betrayed your orders and I have kept my promise to this girl," replied Leonhardt. "Girl," he said, turning to the elven girl behind him, "we must go now, before more men come."

The elven girl's eyes were round as coins, but fear was giving way to trust and gratitude by the second. "This way! I can take us back home!" she said, as she scampered off between the trees.

"Leonhardt… they will come for you and show no quarter. Your heart and compassion should shame the Empire, but have a care, boy, or they will eat you alive."

"Your concern is appreciated. I wish there was another way, but if I did not take your life, I must have rendered you unconscious," said Leonhardt as he brought the pommel of his sword down on Musaka's head and chased after the elven girl.

* * *

Together, the elven girl and Leonhardt hurried through the forest, staying off the main trails to avoid the men that were undoubtedly searching for him. Leonhardt wondered if his presence only endangered the girl, but if she were to run afoul any soldiers without him, all would have been for naught. At any rate, the girl kept a firm grip on either his hand or the hem of his coat at all times, as though afraid he would wander astray. Despite the situation and the danger, Leonhardt could not help but notice the girl's innocence and innately adorable nature. He had no children of his own, but he suspected the protective emotions and concern he felt for the girl would be the same for a daughter of his own blood. Somehow, putting himself between the blades of his men and her life had made him a grown man as he had never felt before.

"This way!" the girl whispered, tugging at his hand. The two of them emerged from the trees into a small forest clearing.

"General Raglan… you do me great offense running off like that…"

Leonhardt instinctively drew his blade, placing it between his body and the voice. With his free hand, he pushed the elven girl behind him.

"Melchior…"

"Indeed. Well? What say you? You have disobeyed a direct order from our Emperor, taken arms against your own men, worked to undermine the success of our campaign, and now you draw your blade against me? Do you mean to duel me for you and the girl's freedom?"

Leonhardt glared at Melchior. The head of House Klavis, Melchior was directly responsible for the fall of House Raglan and had assumed nominal control of the Empire's military after House Raglan's disgrace. In his early forties, Melchior was seldom deigned to come to the frontlines himself, commanding the military from his desk, and it showed. In contrast to Leonhardt's coat and light armor, which showed all the wear and tear of the day's battles, Melchior's ceremonial armor was spotless and buffed to a high sheen.

"No more games, Melchior. You know what I have done and if you are here, I am surrounded. Let this girl go home and I will surrender to your custody."

Melchior laughed, his mirth jarring in the otherwise silent clearing. "Who would have thought… the great Golden Leo would trade his life for a worthless wretch of an elf. That seems like an offer only a fool would refuse! But I have a better idea. I think it would be better for our country if the traitorous General Raglan were slain resisting arrest… that would end your tiresome house's name once and for all. As for the girl… I admit I am in the mood for sport, I would give her a five minutes head start."

Leonhardt raised his blade slightly higher. "Girl, go. Run, I shall follow behind you once I have made sure he cannot follow."

Melchior smiled coldly and snapped his fingers. "Unfortunately, dueling you would be a tiresome prospect. Elaine does love this set of armor… what if you scratched it? I think it's best if you met my champion in this duel, the Dark Knight."

The temperature of the clearing dropped perceptibly and every shadow seemed to deepen as a dark figure strode out from where he had previously been lurking between the trees. His name was entirely self-explanatory; as the knight's leadened footsteps drew closer, Leonhardt saw that he was enclosed head-to-toe in a massive suit of metal so dark it seemed to draw in light. On the knight's chest piece, two stylized eyes glared outwards giving a disturbingly life-like appearance to the armor. The Dark Knight stopped six paces from Leonhardt, completely silent, shock still, and radiating a palpable energy.

"N-no! You can't fight him!" said the elven girl, tugging at Leonhardt's hand.

Leonhardt turned to face her while keeping one eye on the knight. "Girl, you must trust me. Go now, run as fast as you can. I promise I shall be behind you, you will always have my protection."

With a gentle nudge, Leonhardt turned the girl around and watched as she disappeared between the trees.

"Run as fast as you can on those little legs! We'll be following right behind you!" called Melchior. Returning his attention to Leonhardt, Melchior's face twisted with a vicious pleasure. "Dark Knight… finish _Golden Leo_."

Leonhardt dropped into a defensive stance, intending to buy the elven girl a few valuable minutes before disengaging. The Dark Knight sprang into motion with inhuman speed, his blade literally a blur of darkness as he flew at Leonhardt. In all his experience on the battlefield, Leonhardt had never known a foe to be so fast and so strong. His first blow on Leonhardt's blade shook his entire arm. Were it not for the blade's exceptional forging, Leonhardt had no doubt it would have shattered. Under the Dark Knight's relentless onslaught, Leonhardt realized there would be no disengagement from the duel, his blade moved so fast that it was all Leonhardt could do to parry and continue to back up. Impossibly, the Dark Knight's attack sped up even more, overwhelming any defense Leonhardt had left.

Leonhardt's eyes widened in shock as the Dark Knight's ebony blade slipped past his golden one and cut through his armor as if it was so much silk. As the blade sank into his body, he could feel no pain, but a cold beyond description gripped his chest and drove all breath from his body. As the blade withdrew, Leonhardt sank to his knees. Through a narrowed tunnel of vision, he saw his shaking hand pulling away from his wound with shockingly bright red.

"How the mighty have fallen…" Melchior's voice sounded muffled, as if he were speaking through a wall. "I could end you now, but you don't deserve a warrior's death. You shall kneel here, bleeding out until the death of a traitor takes you. Don't worry about the elf either… I'm sure she'll join you soon enough in whatever afterlife you find yourself in. Take your time, there's no hurry…" said Melchior as he walked past Leonhardt with the Dark Knight in tow.

* * *

Alone, Leonhardt felt his body fall forward into the ground. Darkness closed in around him, though it was not the foul shadows of the Dark Knight, but rather a warm and obliterating blanket.

_Golden Leo indeed… I could not even save a single girl from those who would murder her for their own amusement. Years ago, I vowed to rebuild our family's name. I sought honor on the battlefield, but only in protecting an innocent girl, whose name I do not even know, did I truly find my purpose. I only wish I could have known that life longer and kept her safe for longer than half a day…_

The darkness had closed in completely and Leonhardt felt his body draw its last breath. A light approached from the distance and Leonhardt felt a tug of curiosity. What would his first glimpse of afterlife be, he wondered? As the light drew closer and Leonhardt began to make out details, his eyes widened in shock. Whatever he had expected it was not… a beautiful woman, clad in impossibly flowing robes that revealed a shocking amount of her skin… Leonhardt had never seen any woman dressed as she was in life, much less death. Not wanting to offend her modesty, Leonhardt looked up at her face. She had long locks of subtle teal hair, done in an alluring, yet impossibly antiquated hair style, the kind women of the ancients were depicted having from legend. Yet, for all her beauty, her eyes gave Leonhardt a ripple of disquiet. A deep and captivating amethyst, there was not a single flicker of emotion behind them. For that matter, her entire face was an ivory study in smoothness and the lack of expression.

As the woman drew closer, Leonhardt struggled to one knee. Finally, she stood before him. "Leonhardt…"

"Forgive me, I do not believe I recognize you…" ventured Leonhardt.

"My name is Dyshana. This is our first acquaintance," said the woman. Although her voice was beautiful and luscious, it too lacked any emotion, much as her face did.

"Dyshana… it is a pleasure. Tell me, how am I having this conversation with you if I am dead?"

"You may have left the mortal plane, but you are not yet beyond the power of the Gods. I come to you with an offer. I sensed that you were not yet ready to depart this world and that your strength has yet to fully come to bear. I would offer you this; the chance to return to the mortal plane, a second opportunity to right the wrongs of your world and to protect the ones you love. I offer you the power of the Gods themselves. With their blessing, you and your descendents will unlock your true potentials. In time, your descendents will grow to have power that even the Gods would tremble at."

Leonhardt rose to his feet, "And you would grant me these gifts at what cost?" he asked, for one never made compacts with the Gods themselves lightly.

"I will not lie… my price for these gifts is equally extraordinary. I desire equilibrium in this world. Your body and life, your very soul, even your destiny, shall belong to me and that purpose. Those of your descendents as well. In accepting this covenant, you forever bind yourself and your descendents to me. You and those of your blood will live gloriously, but only to sacrifice yourselves to protect this world as Spirit Vessels."

Leonhardt looked deep into Dyshana's eyes. Though the terms were, as she said, extraordinary, he sensed no malice from the woman. As for his descendents… would they ever forgive him for entering a divine contract on their behalf? Perhaps not, but to refuse her offer would preclude their very existence. Life in exchange for no life. A destiny in exchange for none at all…

"I made the girl a promise… I swore that I would do anything to protect her. Will this covenant give me the power to fulfill that vow?"

"You and your descendents."

"Then I accept your terms Dyshana."

The woman raised her arm and Leonhardt felt strength surging into his body as light engulfed him. Slowly, the darkness ebbed and the forest returned. Leonhardt watched incredulously as the gaping wound in his torso faded until it was as though he had never tasted the Dark Knight's blade. If there was any doubt left in his mind that Dyshana was not a divine emissary or a Goddess, herself, it was erased as surely as his mortal wound was.

"Incredible…"

Dyshana waved her hand dismissively as she turned towards the tree line. "The Gods wield the powers of life and death… from this moment forth, you and your descendents will forever more be Spirit Vessels. I will join your travels to guide you and to hold you to our contract. I know you have many questions, but they must wait. The life of the one you so cherish is in the balance and we must hurry."

* * *

As Leonhardt crashed through the forest brambles, he marveled at how sprightly he felt, particularly for a man who had been run through by a sword not twenty minutes ago. Perhaps it was merely the confidence a man might draw from having been blessed by a divine presence, but it seemed to Leonhardt that Dyshana had held true to her promise; he sensed a strength and vigor in him that he had never felt before. Making haste, he only hoped that the elven girl had managed to hide and elude Melchior.

"She is just beyond this thicket," intoned Dyshana, utterly unperturbed by Leonhardt's mad dash through the forest.

Leonhardt took a running leap, testing his newfound strength for himself, and easily vaulted over the undergrowth into yet another forest clearing. Immediately, he noticed, to his dismay, that the elven girl was in yet another predicament. She had hid herself in a small hole formed by two roots of a great tree. Above her, a massive presence loomed, one nearly as intimidating as the Dark Knight. Towering easily two heads above Leonhardt, the creature was massive, with arms as thick as Leonhardt's torso and rippling with inhuman musculature and radiating magic energies. It wore no armor save for a modest kilt at its waist, but Leonhardt judged from the creature's skin was likely hard enough to serve the same purpose as any forged plate.

_What dark forces do you conspire with, Melchior?_ he wondered, but the questions would have to wait. In one deft movement, Leonhardt drew his golden blade and pointed it at the creature. "I know not what manner of creature or beast you are, but I will only warn you once: step away from the girl or meet your fate."

The massive creature turned around slowly and fixed Leonhardt with its gaze. A glimmer of intelligence rippled beneath its fearless eyes. Clearly, the creature was no bloodlusting beast, but that fact made it, perhaps, even more dangerous.

In a split second, both Leonhardt and the creature made up their minds, flying at each other. Using his massive gauntlets, the creature blocked Leonhardt's blow and threw him back. Before his resurrection, such a force would have completely staggered him, but with his newfound strength, Leonhardt merely leapt backwards and fell into a defensive stance. The creature's eyes betrayed its surprise; clearly it had expected a more dramatic result. Snarling slightly, the massive creature let loose with a flurry of furious blows and swipes. Steel clanged on chitin as Leonhardt parried some blows, but many of them he dodged outright, moving with deftness and speed that surprised even him.

Clearly upset, the creature bellowed and lowered its massive head, pointing its razor sharp horns directly at Leonhardt. With a burst of surprising speed from such a massive creature, it charged forward, clearly intent on running Leonhardt through. Standing his ground, Leonhardt leapt at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the horns and landing with his boots planted squarely on the creature's massive back. Coiling his body, Leonhardt drew his legs in and released, leaping from the creature and landing neatly behind it. The force of his departure staggered the creature, whose momentum compelled him to drive squarely into the trunk of a massive oak. The entire tree groaned as it split bodily down the middle.

"STOP!" the girl's voice rang shrilly across the clearing.

"Girl! Stay where you are! The creature may yet be dangerous," Leonhardt replied, keeping his sword trained on the massive beast.

Snarling, the creature pulled itself free from the unfortunate oak, looking, surprisingly, no worse for the wear. Though it continued to eye Leonhardt warily, all hostility had vanished from its body language as soon as the girl had spoken. With a low, gravelly voice, it spoke, yet again surprising Leonhardt, "Master, do you not wish me to protect you from this human as I did the others?"

"No! Borgnine, this human is the one who saved me… I think he was one of them, but he was kind, not like the others… I trust him with my life," explained the elven girl as she emerged from her hole.

Utterly bemused, Leonhardt sheathed his blade. "Forgive me… I thought you meant to harm her. You must forgive my preconceptions, so intimidating was your appearance… my only thoughts were for the girl's safety. You have my gratitude, Borgnine, for protecting her when I could not."

"Master's safety is my only concern. So long as we share that goal, we are allies," ground out Borgnine after what seemed to be an eternity of silence.

"Borgnine appeared to save me when some bad men found me!" said the girl, happily patting Borgnine's knee; the highest she could comfortably reach. "My name is Ellis! Did some of the bad men call you Golden Leo? That's a strange name."

Leonhardt laughed, grateful for the release of emotion and worry for the girl's wellbeing. "Ellis! It is a fine name. My name is Leonhardt, though my friends call me Leo. Some called me Golden Leo, but perhaps I am that man no longer..."

"Then I shall call you Leo too!" declared Ellis. "You seem… different Leo… I was so scared that the really bad man would hurt you…" she said with a shudder.

"The Dark Knight?" asked Leonhardt, "Yes… I suppose he did hurt me, but I am better now. I made you a promise, did I not? Whatever the future may hold, it is but a small price to see you safe now." At that moment, Dyshana chose to materialize from the trees where she had been watching from a distance. "Ah yes, this is my… friend… Dyshana. She helped me to get better when the Dark Knight hurt me very badly."

"Leonhardt, you would do well to speak frankly with the girl. Her destiny and that of you and your descendents are all intertwined." Dyshana suggested, "Also, though her appearance is that of a human youth, you forget that she is an elf. She is likely older than you…"

Ellis stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry at Dyshana. "Leo is too strong for even the Dark Knight to defeat! Perhaps he watches us even now, too afraid to face my two guardians!"

Leonhardt laughed, "Be that as it may, Ellis, I think it would be best if we were on our way to safety... I must confess that I am unfamiliar with these woods, is there anywhere we can be safe from the Gridamas army?"

"We can go home, we'll be safe there! Follow me everyone!" said Ellis as she scampered off.

Without another hesitation, Borgnine lumbered after her, shadowing her protectively. Giving Leonhardt one more unfathomable stare, Dyshana glided after them, making slightly less noise than a stalking panther. Gripping the pommel of his blade, Leonhardt took one more look at the forest depths. Undoubtedly, hundreds more men would die before the sun would fully set, men he had tried to save. He had entered the forest looking for honor and redemption, only to find darkness and death. _I must find a way to end this needless bloodshed and suffering… I owe that much to the men who lay unburied here and their families at home, be it in Gridamas or deep in the Frontier. I failed you all today, but I can yet see this one girl to safety. It is a start… and for her sake and yours, I will end this blighted war and see our land heal from its ravages._


	2. Interbellum

**Thanks to EderNimrais for his extremely warm welcome and review and to my enthusiastic anonymous friend's review as well. Your feedback and gusto motivate me to keep writing as I do. To address EderNimrais's question, I do intend to work my way through all generations if possible, though in the interest of full disclosure, I have only played until generation 3. It is not a question of wanting to play more, it is merely a question of time. At any rate, as you all will probably get a sense, I intend to work my way through the generations at a fairly leisurely and wordy pace, adding a scene here and there, expanding on game scenes, etc. **

**This particular chapter was short, more of a bridging chapter than anything, but the action, drama, and romance that was promised is no more than days away in its final revision process.  
**

**As always, reviews, comments, feedback, suggestions/advice, is always a delight for me to read.**

* * *

"Is this where you live Ellis?" asked Leonhardt, eyeing the sizable town they approached. The sun was setting and Leonhardt was grateful that they had made good progress though and out of the forest. By good fortune, they had avoided any Gridamas patrols and the bulk of the army on their way out.

"No, this is where the humans live, but they're quite nice to us. I live with all the other elves in Alfheim on the other side of the Slumber Forest," replied Ellis from atop Borgnine's shoulder. Her legs had tired from the arduous journey, but Borgnine seemed more than happy, perhaps even pleased, to allow his master to ride on his shoulder.

"Then this must be Dodone… Gridamas means to take Dodone, but they will likely remain in the forests for another day or two. Melchior has always been a meticulous man… he'll want to ensure there is no further enemy presence in the forest before moving the supply train and wounded to avoid ambush. The main host will likely stay behind to protect them as well," mused Leonhardt. "We should find lodgings for the evening and gather what supplies we can purchase before making for Alfheim."

"We should be safe," agreed Dyshana. "If that is your decision, then we should rest for the evening."

An elven girl, a giant the likes of which Leonhardt had never seen, a Gridamas general on the run from his own army, and a mysterious woman dressed as one of the ancients… Leonhardt could not imagine a stranger band to roam into Dodone and the locals clearly agreed. More than one door hastily closed as they approached and men had suddenly grabbed pitchforks to dig up their carrots. Frowning as another set of shutters snapped close on the cottage they were passing, Leonhardt casually set his hand on the pommel of his sword.

As the group rounded the corner onto Dodone's main street, they came face to face with a line of hastily armed men, clearly the town militia. Seeing the men giving each other nervous glances, Leonhardt could tell any man with actual fighting experience had left the town, likely to join the resistance against Gridamas's invasion. The line suddenly parted, however, as an elderly woman, shuffled towards them.

Leonhardt instinctively recognized that the woman was surely the town mayor, or whatever office they had chosen to have. Respectfully, he bowed as she drew near, subtly withdrawing his hand from his sword.

"I am Yulia, elder of Dodone. Pray tell, what business do you have with our humble town?" rasped Yulia.

"Yulia, it is a pleasure. My name is Leonhardt. My… colleagues, and I mean to simply pass through Dodone. We make for Alfheim. With your permission, we would lodge here for the night and purchase supplies before we continue on our travels."

The elder gazed into Leonhardt's eyes for a second before throwing her head back and giving a bark of laughter that broke the tension. With the spirit of a much younger woman and a fire in her eyes that previously hid behind a veil of age, Yulia turned around to address her constituents. "And what are you all looking at? Is there so little work to be had in Dodone that you'd all be busybodies? Never seen travelers before, eh? And you…" she said, walking up to her militia commander and poking him square in the chest with her cane, "why don't you dismiss your boys, _General_? If they meant to bring trouble to Dodone, I hardly think they would bother with such excellent manners no?"

The militia commander flushed crimson. "With respect, Elder, should we not watch these travelers just to be safe?"

"Yulia chortled, "An excellent idea! You boys could learn much from this one… look at his eyes, now there's the look of someone who has been tested by the fires of true battle." She turned back to the four, "Leonhardt, I would have you and your friends join me for tea at my cottage. Please indulge an old woman for an hour. As for my brash, young _General_, forgive him and his boys. Back in my time, we had others to protect us from any possible dangers… we called them _Men_! Hah!"

* * *

"What did she want, Leo?" asked Ellis as Leonhardt and Dyshana emerged from Yulia's cottage. Having felt sorry that Borgnine could not fit through the cottage doorway, Ellis had elected to stay outside and keep him company.

"Nothing we could not afford to give her. She merely wanted to know when the Gridamas Army would arrive."

"What will they do?" asked Ellis, eyes round with concern.

Leonhardt forced a smile and ruffled her hair, "If Yulia is right, nothing. Dodone will surrender without resistance and be inducted into the Empire. It is, perhaps, unpleasant, but Dodone and its people will survive unharmed. Melchior is likely less interested in razing the town as using it as a command and resupply base."

"What about us?"

"Yulia has offered to let us stay with her. It is a gracious offer and we will be less disruptive of the townsfolk if we stay here. Where Borgnine will sleep, I don't know, however…" said Leonhardt, frowning at the guardian's profile.

"Borgnine doesn't sleep!" said Ellis incredulously. "He can watch the house from the outside, he doesn't mind."

"Ah… of course. Forgive my silliness Ellis, it's been a long day," said Leonhardt with a smile. As he saw Dyshana approach however, his face dimmed. "Would you please go inside and help Yulia, Ellis?"

"Of course!"

Leonhardt sighed and looked out towards the rest of Dodone beneath the gentle hill that Yulia's cottage sat upon as Dyshana came to a halt beside him. "This feeling… I cannot explain it. It is equal parts joy and sorrow. Bitter yet sweet. I feel as though I belong here, that I would be content to stay and raise a family. But that it cannot be…"

Dyshana stared out at the sunset with him. "You sense your destiny. You will know that life, if only for a moment's time. It is your destiny that you should gaze upon life's most beautiful moments and have the courage to sacrifice yourself to protect it all."

As the sun dropped below the horizon and darkness moved to shroud Dodone, Leonhardt felt a peace he had never felt. "If that is truly to be my fate… then I have chosen well," he said, as much to himself as to Dyshana.

* * *

"Is this… Alfheim?" asked Leonhardt. "There are so many elves…"

After two days of navigating the Slumber Forest, Ellis had finally lead the party to her home. The forest had been a confusing labyrinth of twists and turns. Besides physical barriers the trees formed, Ellis had been careful to take detours to avoid places she had been warned away from. Leonhardt thought he could sense a magical energy about the forest, tranquil as they passed though, but he doubted any pursuing Gridamas scouts would find the forest quite so welcoming.

"Yes, it is" replied Ellis, "Are there no elves where you live, Leo? That must be so dull!"

Leonhardt smiled, "I had no idea elves made for such a lively town."

Ellis laughed, "Of course! And elven women are the most beautiful in the world! You should marry an elf Leo," she said, beaming.

Leonhardt flushed slightly, but joined in Ellis's laughter all the same.

"That is not his destiny…" said Dyshana in a deadpan voice, completely derailing the conversation.

As Leonhardt spluttered in surprise, Ellis ran off, oblivious to Dyshana's prediction, "Grandpa!"

"So not only will you decide my destiny, you aim to choose my wife for me as well?" demanded Leonhardt, flushing even redder.

Unimpressed, Dyshana merely shrugged, "That choice remains your own. I merely said your wife would not be an elf."

Sighing, Leonhardt put that thought from his mind, regaining his composure as Ellis returned with her grandfather.

"My name is Teonor. My granddaughter says that you are to thank for saving her. We feared for the worst when we heard Gridamas had invaded the Frontier and that Ellis had gone out on one of her trips. I cannot express my gratitude enough," said the elderly elf gratefully.

"In truth, Sir, you have Borgnine to thank. He protected Ellis when I could not," said Leonhardt humbly.

Teonor cast his gaze at Borgnine, who remained impassive as ever. "Ah… but where are my manners? I have but little, but you must accept my hospitality. Please, my home is your home."

"I shall cook us dinner!" declared Ellis, clearly intent on impressing Leonhardt, "Good-bye for now Leo. Come, Borgnine, your fists will tenderize the meat nicely…"

"Is she the only high-elf in this village?" asked Dyshana as Borgnine heeded his master's call.

Teonor's face saddened, "She is the only high elf in all of Lucrellia…"

Leonhardt's eyes widened, "I had thought all the high elves dead…"

"You see why she means such a great deal to our humble community," said Teonor. "She is the last remaining hope for our people; the old ways depend on her life. Even though the rest of Lucrellia is in pain and suffering, her connection to nature keeps us safe and our forests lush. So long as Ellis holds Alfheim in her heart, we shall flourish. But should anything have happened to her… time would sweep us away as it has with the other elven settlements."

"Then Borgnine is a larva, summoned by the girl," remarked Dyshana.

"Yes, I thought as much. He is one of the Fey, a lesser God, given form and a body to cross over into our own world by Ellis. Only the most powerful of high elves possessed this gift… that Ellis should have summoned Borgnine… I suppose her latent power was realized when she faced mortal danger."

The group was silent for a time as they walked to Teonor's home. Around them, elves of all ages went about their business, giving Leonhardt a wide berth and avoiding eye contact.

"Is it… is it alright for me to be here?" asked Leonhardt, nervously flattening the sides of his hair over his ears.

Teonor glanced knowingly, but with sympathy towards Leonhardt.

"My people have brought little but suffering to the Frontier for the last generation… I would understand if your people felt uncomfortable at the notion of a former Gridamas general staying in their village," continued Leonhardt.

"A person cannot be judged by the actions of the many. You have returned Ellis to us. Whatever your previous actions, you cannot dwell on them now. I can sense that you are a man changed. I am an old man now and I have seen much in my time on Agarest. Winds of change blow through these woods… our world needs only the proper catalyst to restore balance. I think it no mistake that it was you who happened upon my granddaughter and brought her to safety. Something tells me the time is right for a man of integrity and courage to end this suffering and fear that twists our land… Well, perhaps this is a conversation best left for later. For now, let us sup and speak of lighter topics."

* * *

"Are you leaving so soon?" asked Teonor as Leonhardt and Dyshana stood ready to leave on the second morning of their arrival to Alfheim.

"Yes, I do not wish to overstay my welcome," replied Leonhardt, "You have been a gracious host and I thank you for everything. I know not if I can change the course of an entire empire, but Gridamas has lost its way. I swore to protect Ellis and to end this war. The time to act is now, before it is too late."

"Ellis will be sad, but perhaps you are right… I wish you the best of luck," replied Teonor gravely.

"Thank you, it is my… destiny."

"Indeed it is," said a voice from behind them. Leonhardt and Teonor looked up in surprise at the approaching stranger. Only Dyshana seemed unsurprised.

"Worry not for the high-elven girl nor for the Bracelet of the Covenant," continued the Oneltes woman as she drew up to face Leonhardt.

"Who are you?" asked Leonhardt with surprise. Oneltes were an extremely rare sight, especially after the Oneltes hunts throughout history. Of those who survived, many hid or concealed their third eye, living out their lives as ersatz humans. To see an Oneltes woman showing her third eye so brazenly was a shocking testament to her power and survivability. She wore a beautiful tunic of subtle rose with burgundy accents that perfectly complimented her eyes and makeup. The tunic ended in a short skirt ending at her upper thighs, though her modesty was preserved with long thigh-high stockings of the same burgundy, held up by satin ribbons tied with golden bells. Leonhardt was careful to not let his gaze linger too long; the Oneltes woman was one part alluring, one part uninterested, and one part dangerous.

"Does my third eye shock you so that you have forgotten your manners?" asked the Oneltes woman smoothly. Though her third eye remained open and staring, her two binocular ones shone with knowing playfulness.

"My lady, please forgive my rudeness. My name is-"

"You are Golden Leo of Gridamas, yes? I knew we would be meeting here," interrupted the Oneltes. "My name is Vira-Lorr, I am a seer. You are more… handsome than I had expected… yes, I can now see what they see in you after all…" said Vira-Lorr with a smirk and a coquettish wink.

Leonhardt felt his cheeks warm, "Th-they?! Wonderful… another woman who knows more about my love life than I do…"

Vira-Lorr and Dyshana looked at each other and merely nodded. There seemed to be no need for the two to converse for only Leonhardt and Teonor's benefit.

"Vira-Lorr… is he…?" asked Teonor tentatively.

"Indeed. He is the one I have sought," Turning to Leonhardt, Vira-Lorr explained, "My third eye gives me visions of the future. For a while now, my visions have been only of one man, you. There exists an artifact… a talisman… its danger cannot be overstated; it holds the power to destroy the entire world. I believe it is your fate to seek this Bracelet of the Covenant. Teonor has been seeking a champion to take this task for some time."

Leonhardt glanced at the elderly elf, who nodded. "Of course I would be willing to, but why me?"

"It is your destiny" Vira-Lorr and Dyshana said together.

Seeing Leonhardt's disbelief, Dyshana spoke, "Consider it a step in your meandering journey to fulfill your destiny. Though the end may be out of sight, your path will lead you where you are needed. Accept this request Leonhardt."

"I believe I would have done so anyways… there is little point in stopping this war if someone were to destroy the entire world after all my hard work, no?" said Leonhardt with a smile.

"Then if there are no objections, lead the way, Leo," said Vira-Lorr. "Oh, don't even try to stop me from coming. You cannot expect me to idly stand when Fate calls so strongly," she admonished before Leonhardt could even open his mouth. "Your concern is appreciated, but I am more than capable of taking care of myself. You would do well to acquaint yourself with the idea of women capable of fighting alongside you. You can ill afford misogyny with the women we are about to meet, trust me."

Deciding against saying anything, Leonhardt merely nodded.

"Also, the high-elven girl comes with us," Vira-Lorr said, then softening her tone, "Worry not, Teonor, she will be safe with Leo and Borgnine. Her part in things to come is at hand and it is high time that she develop her gifts. Alfheim rests in good hands with you leading these people."

The elderly elf bowed his head, sadness filling his voice, "You are right… I can no longer shelter her from the world she lives in. I wish you all safe travels."

"Excellent. Leo, we should make for Mimas as soon as Ellis is ready to depart."

"This may very well be the last time Ellis sees her grandfather for a long time, Vira-Lorr. I'll not rush such a moment," replied Leonhardt, smiling back as Teonor blinked gratefully and returned inside to Ellis.

* * *

Dusk was falling as Leonhardt arranged the wood to light the campfire. The ground trembled slightly as Vira-Lorr helped Ellis to practice channeling her magic abilities into combat skills. Beside them, Borgnine stood, ever vigilant to his master's safety. As the kindling caught, Leonhardt stepped back to allow the fire to breathe and sat gratefully. They had made good progress through the forests and along country paths as they cut across the Frontier to Mimas. Aside from the odd Gridamas patrol, the group had little to contend with aside from minor beasts that served more or less as target practice to Ellis's growing abilities.

As he felt another series of strong reverberations through the ground, Leonhardt smiled. The elven girl may not have been of his blood, but he felt the tug of pride at her growing powers nonetheless. Though Vira-Lorr had only been with them since departing Alfheim five days ago, Ellis had already mastered the combat spells that had served Vira-Lorr so well in evading periodic Oneltes hunts and looked now to outshine her tutor in terms of sheer magic strength.

Feeling the wind ruffle his hair, Leonhardt closed his eyes and felt the tension leaving his body. Truly, with nature so pristine and an evening so fine, it was almost possible to forget that Gridamas had brought so much war and death to the Frontier.

"We make good time to Mimas; your destiny awaits," came Dyshana's voice, intruding on the moment.

Leonhardt opened one eye and saw that the woman had come to a halt next to him, staring into the flames of the now crackling fire. "Dyshana, please, forgive me for not rising, this moment is too peaceful. Sit, I would share the sunset with another."

Dyshana shifted her gaze from the flames to Leonhardt, her intensity unbroken. "Evenings such as this grow more infrequent as the forces of darkness consume your lands."

"Which makes this evening even more beautiful and all the more important to value." said Leonhardt, frowning at Dyshana's pessimism.

The woman said nothing, but deigned to take a seat beside him all the same.

Taking it as a victory, Leonhardt smiled and turned to his pack, rummaging until he had extracted a small box from the bottom. Seeing Dyshana's gaze fall on the box, Leonhardt explained, "I bought this small luxury when we were in Dodone as a surprise for Ellis. It seems as good a night as I could hope for to share it."

"What… are these?" asked Dyshana, prodding the box's contents with her finger.

Leonhardt laughed, "I take it you have never experienced much of the mortal plane, have you?"

Dyshana remained silent, but watched with interest as Leonhardt proceeded to spear one of the box's contents on the end of a stick and caramelize it in the fire.

"It's called a marshmallow. Here, try it," encouraged Leonhardt as he offered the puff of confectionary to Dyshana.

Gingerly, the woman took a delicate nibble of the marshmallow's golden crust and found the sweet within. Slowly, her face broke into the first smile Leonhardt had ever seen the woman wear. Though she wore it somewhat awkwardly, to Leonhardt's eyes, Dyshana had never appeared more human. "Thank you, Leonhar… Leo. I think Ellis will love them."


	3. Fyuria

**To my enthusiastic guest reviewer: First, thank you very much for taking the time to leave a review; it is always immensely gratifying for me to receive the thoughts and well wishes of my audience. To answer your question, I think this chapter will put to rest your concern about a lack of future romance. As far as the spirit vessel's choice between the three women, I want the relationships to develop organically and naturally as I write, so no, I have not taken any of the three women away as choices for the spirit vessel's future wife. While I will be adhering, more or less, to the story arc of the true end, as far as I am concerned, it's anyone's guess which of the women will end up with the hero. **

**I'd also like to take the moment to comment on some concern I have received from a number of readers. Apparently, Dyshana's prediction that Leonhardt would not marry an elf lead some of you to believe that I had taken Fyuria off the table. This is not the case, as Fyuria is a syrium, which I believe she mentions were created by Chaos. The Agarest Wiki also states that although syrium and elves share similar appearances, they are not of the same race. That line was written more as a nod to Ellis, but I can see why some confusion arose.  
**

**So here's where I stop nattering and let you get back to what you came here for. Ladies and gentlemen, for your reading pleasure, a chapter with the drama and romance you've been waiting for with a hint of spice to keep you coming back for more...**

* * *

Leonhardt came to a running stop as he led the group past a charred "Welcome to Mimas" sign. The town was in complete pandemonium as women and children fled in all directions, burdened with their valuables. A number of cottages had already burned, their thatch roofs turned to ash, leaving the walls soot stained and crumbling. As fires jumped from one building to another, the entire town was set alight with a hellish, orange glow.

"Gridamas's vanguard has come this far?!" exclaimed Leonhardt, eying a discarded Gridamas army banner on the ground with dismay. "Vira-Lorr, Ellis, stay here, Borgnine and I will enter the town."

Vira-Lorr's fury burst forward, "What arrogance! What pride to think that you could defeat the entire vanguard on your own! I am no stranger to combat and none of Grimdas's soldiers are my equal on the field. Look to your own safety before you concern yourself with mine."

Emboldened by Vira-Lorr's outburst, Ellis spoke up as well, "I- I will fight too!"

Leonhardt's eyes softened. "Ellis, Vira-Lorr is a grown woman, I cannot ask her to do anything against her will, but I swore to protect you. This is war, I cannot allow you to endanger yourself."

"It is because it is war that I must fight!" demanded Ellis, "Leo, Vira-Lorr has taught me to use my magic to fight. I will never again be the burden that I was in the forest where we met; I can help you this time! Besides, do you honestly think I will be safer hiding here than with you and Borgnine?"

Seeing her face set with determination, Leonhardt relented. Ellis spoke true, he would be more worried with her out of sight than by his side. At any rate, to continue shielding her would do her a disservice; Ellis was in many ways older and more mature than her youthful appearance suggested. "Very well. Borgnine, do not let her out of your sight."

"Of course." rumbled the demi-god.

Together, the four of them rushed into the Mimas. The streets were soaked with blood; clearly Gridamas's vanguard had met significant resistance. Rounding the corner, Leonhardt saw a squad of five Gridamas soldiers standing over two kneeling men. With a start, Leonhardt realized they were syrium. The squad leader raised his sword and brought it down, beheading the first of the unfortunate soldiers.

Heart pounding in fury, Leonhardt shouted out and charged. Before the syrium's body had even fallen to the ground, Leonhardt was upon the Gridamas soldiers, felling the squad leader with a single mighty blow that shattered the man's entire chest piece. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the other Gridamas soldiers turn in fear and surprise. With righteous fury, Leonhardt delivered a devastating uppercut to another man, slicing through his armor and to the flesh underneath.

"Impulse!" Ellis and Vira-Lorr said in unison. The ground shook as twin waves of magic energy rushed from the two mages, slamming into the remaining soldiers, lifting them bodily from the ground, and tossing them across the street like three rag dolls.

Deftly, Leonhardt cut the cords binding the surviving syrium's hands and helped the man to his feet. Confusion and fear clouded the syrium's eyes as he tried to make sense of the sudden turn in events.

"Soldier, name, rank, and company!" barked Leonhardt, deciding that the quickest way to get information was to appeal to the man's training.

The syrium shook his head, still dazed, but seemed to accept that Leonhardt was not one of the enemy. "Sir! Minlas Provos, Ranger, Third Reconnaissance Division."

"Minlas, my name is Leonhardt. What are the syrium doing here?" asked Leonhardt.

"The syrium fight for independence and against the Gridamas aggression towards all peoples of the Frontier! We were the only defense Mimas had against Gridamas, but we were not expecting to face the entire vanguard… My friend and I were separated during the retreat. I think most of the survivors have probably withdrawn by now, but there may be stragglers like us," confided the man, evidently deciding to trust Leonhardt.

"Ellis, this man is wounded, can you heal him?" asked Leonhardt.

"Of course," said Ellis, already weaving magic between her fingers for a healing spell.

"Minlas, take care and join your comrades, try to avoid any more Gridamas soldiers. The street there should be clear and will take you to the town limits. I fear Mimas has already fallen to Gridamas, but we shall push further in and see if we cannot make a difference to any survivors that yet remain," explained Leonhardt as Ellis finished her healing enchantment.

The syrium scout nodded gratefully and set off at a limp as Leonhardt had suggested. With renewed determination, Leonhardt lead the group towards the center of the city. Many of Mimas's inhabitants seemed to have fled along with the defending syrium as Leonhardt and company encountered no other living souls but Gridamas soldiers. Though resistance was determined, it was also spotty, leading Leonhardt to believe that the vanguard captain had already declared victory and was allowing the men liberty with the town, something Leonhardt had always expressly forbade when he was in command; clearly, the army had changed for the worse since his desertion. His suspicions were confirmed as the group repeatedly happened upon grisly scenes of torture and execution, needless violence, and even rape.

His rising fury only lent him strength as he felled man after man, cutting a bloody swath towards the town square. Whatever his previous feelings were towards the men he had left behind, he felt little qualm as he took their lives. Something had made monsters of his men and Leonhardt intended to see justice served for the dead. His companions were similarly affected and their wrath was as terrible a sight to behold as his own. Vira-Lorr and Ellis radiated magic energies, exacting the ultimate revenge against the men of the vanguard. Borgnine also seemed to be channeling the emotion of his master, snarling and pummeling any man foolish enough to stand his ground, quite literally, into the ground.

As they approached the town square, a new sound reached their ears: steel on steel and the cries of men. Leonhardt felt his spirits lift, perhaps there yet remained syrium resistance fighters that they could assist. Rounding the corner, Leonhardt's eyes widened in shock as he realized the entire commotion was being caused a single remaining syrium woman. At her feet laid several dead syrium, clearly cut down fighting; she was the last member of her squad. Surrounded by vanguard soldiers, she was a dazzling and lethal whirl of motion. Leonhardt watched, stunned as the woman dodged and weaved the Gridamas soldiers' blades with agility and acrobatics far beyond his own, her lithe build in stark contrast to the bulky vanguard armor of the Gridamas soldiers. A blur of ferocity, blades, and blue hair, the syrium fell upon her nearest attacker, overwhelming his defense with lightning fast strikes from her two knives. The man cried out in pain as her blade sliced across the exposed part of his throat, under his helmet strap. Blood blossomed and the man fell. Without missing a beat, the woman pivoted on her heel, throwing the knife in her off hand squarely into the face slit of the soldier behind her.

Leonhardt's boots thundered on the cobblestones as he and the others cut down the sentries rushed into the square proper. As they drew closer to the fight, Leonhardt saw that the syrium woman had been wounded in half a dozen places; the fact that she was still on her feet, let alone still fighting, was a feat in of itself. Between the pain and blood loss from her wounds, however, Leonhardt could tell that she was reaching the end of her endurance. Perhaps the Gridamas soldiers sensed this as well; their captain closed the gap and delivered a furious backhand to the woman, throwing her to the ground.

"Syrium scum, you've got spirit, I'll give you that," spat the captain. He pushed up his faceplate to reveal a lecherous leer, "Maybe my boys and I will teach you to heel like the animal you are… I'd bet you'd last all night long before we break you in."

Fires blazed in the syrium's eyes, her hatred and fury palpable, "Gridamas dogs!" she panted, struggling to rise.

Leonhardt could see that the woman was completely spent, having finally succumbed to her injuries. Before the Gridamas soldiers could close in, however, he and the others sprinted past and came to a sliding halt surrounding the woman. Holding his golden blade to his side, between the woman and the vanguard captain, Leonhardt stared down the Gridamas man, fighting to keep his revulsion and anger in check. "Captain, I should take your life and those of all your men for what atrocities you have committed here."

"Golden Leo?! So you yet live. Truly you have fallen, slaying your own kinsmen, protecting these worthless, pitiful creatures. Can you not see? It is only with cleansing fire and show of force that these animals will learn to obey our Emperor," bellowed the captain, madness in his eyes.

"Men like you have perverted our once noble people into savages. It is you and your men who are the real beasts here; you are my kinsmen no longer," said Leonhardt with gritted teeth, pointing his golden blade at the man, "Withdraw your men and leave Mimas immediately, without resistance. Would that I could deliver justice to all of you, but I grow weary of so much bloodshed. I would sooner see guilty men walk free than have the blood of innocents continue running in the town streets."

The vanguard captain merely tossed his head back, laughing insanely. "The time for talk is over, Golden Leo. Men! Bring me his head!"

A dozen vanguard soldiers charged Leonhardt and the others from all sides as Ellis and Vira-Lorr let loose with yet another torrent of magical energy. Borgnine seized a man bodily, throwing him clear across the square into another charging soldier. Both men smashed through a shop front, twitched, and lay still. The two soldiers that rushed Leonhardt attacked with vigor, but without discipline, and Leonhardt's golden blade weaved easily past their clumsy attacks to claim their lives. Stepping past their fallen forms, Leonhardt advanced on the vanguard captain. Steel clanged with steel as both men fought to kill. Leonhardt let the captain feel the full wrath of a spirit vessel, wearing his defenses down blow by blow. The man was undeniably strong and resourceful, parrying Leonhardt's golden blade as he backpedaled. Suddenly, Leonhardt felt the sting of steel on his cheek as something flew past him. Pulling back in shock, he realized the syrium woman had gotten to her feet and thrown her remaining dagger squarely into the vanguard captain's forehead. Blood trickled from the wound as his eyes rolled up into his skull and his body fell to the ground.

Panting, the syrium woman made eye contact with Leonhardt and, in that instant, Leonhardt felt the pain and fury that drove the woman slam into him. Though her dagger had been expertly aimed, Leonhardt had little doubt that she would have shed no tears had it wound up in the back of his head instead. "My lady-!" he shouted as the woman's eyes rolled to the back of her head and her legs folded under her. Sheathing his blade, Leonhardt ran to her side, brushed her hair behind one of her long, pointed ears to reveal her slender neck, and checked her pulse. It was sluggish, but present; the woman had fallen unconscious, but if they treated her injuries, Leonhardt had little doubt that she would recover. Putting his arms under her knees and back, Leonhardt picked the syrium up; her lithe build presenting little difficulty to him. "Comrades, we have done all we can for Mimas; we must leave before the rest of the vanguard encircles us."

With one last look towards the deserted and burning town, the four warriors, Dyshana, and their unconscious ward ran down out of the square and after the fleeing refugees.

* * *

Holding a bowl of warm water, Leonhardt ducked into the tent they had erected and placed the syrium woman in. She remained unconscious during the group's retreat from Mimas despite a healing spell from Ellis. Carrying her, Leonhardt and company had traveled until dusk, successfully avoiding encirclement at Mimas. No patrols came after them and Leonhardt suspected that the death of their captain had thrown the vanguard into disorder; they would likely set camp for the evening, themselves, and were unlikely to pursue.

Together, Ellis and Leonhardt cleaned the raw skin where the syrium had been wounded, wiping away dried blood and dirt. Ellis's healing spell had stabilized the woman, but her cuts had been deep and her body would need more time to fully heal. Wiping the sweat off her brow, Leonhardt saw that the syrium was younger than he had previously expected for a warrior so skilled. Her skin was paler than that of most of her people, barely off-white with only a hint of the bluish hue characteristic of all syrium. It was also smooth and wrinkle free, betraying her youth. Her hair was long, pinned up on either side of her head by silver clips and flowing down to her knees. Though dirt and soot covered it, Leonhardt could see that her hair was a lustrous blue, shimmering in the dancing light of the candle flame in the tent. The woman wore little clothing, clearly preferring to remain unencumbered and agile in battle. Eschewing armor, the syrium wore a light leather halter top held up by a silver choker at her neck that hugged her modest cleavage close to her chest. Her entire midriff was exposed, as were her legs and arms, save for her light leather combat gauntlets and leather boots. At her hips, two belts, crossed at her midline and overlaying a short leather skirt of the same make as her halter top, held scabbards for her twin daggers, both of which had been lost at Mimas.

Leonhardt had no idea what syrium women wore regularly, but found this one's garb to be shockingly revealing. He averted his eyes as best he could, concentrating on the woman's wounds and making small talk with Ellis to avoid lingering eyes.

"I think that's the best we can do," remarked Leonhardt. "Ellis, would you please go cut some bandages from the linens in my pack?"

The elf girl smiled as she ducked out of the tent, Leonhardt following suit. Should the woman wake soon, he expected she would be hungry. Vira-Lorr and Dyshana had since prepared a stew, which now bubbled merrily on the campfire. Taking a fresh bowl, Leonhardt ladled a large serving for their injured guest and returned to the tent; perhaps the smell of the stew would rouse her.

As soon as Leonhardt knelt and set the bowl of stew down at the head of her bedroll, the syrium woman rolled towards him in a flash of sudden agility, shoving Leonhardt squarely in the chest. The former crashed to the ground on his back and the syrium immediately leapt on top, straddling and pinning Leonhardt's torso with her legs and deftly pulling his own knife from his belt with her free hand. Her eyes were wild and fearful as she held his dagger a millimeter from his eye.

"Where am I, human, and what manner of trickery is this?!" demanded the syrium, her voice quiet and dangerous.

Leonhardt swallowed, but softened his eyes to let her know she was in no danger. Otherwise, he did not move his muscles an inch; the syrium's warning more than clear. "My lady, I beg your pardon. My name is Leonhardt Raglan. My friends and I rescued you from Mimas."

The woman's eyes narrowed and the knife point trembled a shade closer to Leonhardt's pupil. "Leonhardt? Golden Leo? Then I am a prisoner of Gridamas?!"

"No," said Leonhardt firmly, "as I said, we rescued you from the square in Mimas. I am no longer a general in the Gridamas Army. The Gridamas vanguard had overwhelmed your position. Do you remember any of that?"

Pain clouded the syrium's eyes as the memories flooded back. Her grip on the knife loosened and Leonhardt felt her muscles relax slightly, allowing him to breathe easier. "My men?" she inquired hesitantly.

"Too late," said Leonhardt, with a slight shake of his head. "We could only save you."

"I remember," said the woman bitterly. "I remember it all now."

"My lady, I don't believe you had the chance to introduce yourself yet. Might I ask your name?" inquired Leonhardt, now that she appeared less likely to impale his eye.

"…My name is Fyuria," answered the syrium after a pause. "Why should I trust any of your words? What were you doing in Mimas anyways? If you had truly left the Gridamas Army, would you not be a fugitive on the run?" she asked, eyes once again narrowing in suspicion.

"Fyuria, it is a pleasure," said Leonhardt with a smile. The woman was fierce and Leonhardt could not help but admire the strength of her character. "I suppose you could say that one cannot run from his destiny… I may have led her armies to war, but that was in another life, quite literally. When I saw what Gridamas had become, what choice did I have but to leave? This war has brought nothing but death and misery to this land; it is my destiny to atone for my past sins and see this war ended."

Fyuria scoffed, "You would have me believe that a single man can accomplish what an entire army of syrium, five thousand strong, has yet to do?"

"I would have you believe whatever you desire; my destiny remains unchanged. If you feel you cannot trust me, I cannot force you to, but I did not save your life from the vanguard soldiers simply to betray you later," said Leonhardt as Fyuria remained silent. "We make for Puteaux. It seems many of the villagers of Mimas are fleeing there and we will ensure they reach Puteaux safely. You may find some of your men in Puteaux as well," continued Leonhardt, leaving the invitation to join their traveling group implied.

Fyuria's eyes dimmed as the fierceness drained out; the woman was exhausted and had clearly expended what little energy she had regained since being rescued. Lowering the knife, she said, "Very well, we shall see if you are worthy of my trust, but know this, hu- Leonhardt, I shall not suffer betrayal from you or any of your comrades. I will travel with your cohort as far as Puteaux..." A silence ensued as Leonhardt awaited Fyuria to allow him back up. The thought seemed to not occur to Fyuria, who stared back and began awkwardly casting about for a change in topic. "It is a beautifully carved dagger; exceptionally balanced and lethal…" she stated.

Leonhardt smiled, the syrium commented on blades as one would the weather. "It is yours then. Consider it a gift; your skills will put it to use far better use than I ever could."

Fyuria's face broke into a weak smile as she accepted the blade and slid it into one of the scabbards that hung from her hips. "Thank you, I confess I was ill at ease without my weapons-"

A sudden gasp at the mouth of the tent caused her eyes to widen in alarm. Leonhardt craned his neck backwards and saw that Ellis had returned with the bandages.

"Ellis, it's not what it looks like…" began Leonhardt as Fyuria flushed crimson and leapt off Leonhardt as though electrified, but the elven girl had turned an equally brilliant shade of cherry, dropped the bandages, and running out of the tent once more.

Face glowing, Fyuria rounded on Leonhardt, "You fool! What do you imagine the rest of them will say now!?" she shrieked.

Leonhardt sighed, rising to his feet and picking up the fallen bandages. "My apologies, my Lady, for offending your modesty. I shall make sure to know my bounds in the future," he said sarcastically.

"You would do well to!" admonished Fyuria, refusing to meet his eyes and entirely missing the amusement that shone behind them.

"Come, let me bandage those wounds," he said, holding the bandages out.

* * *

Ellis charged out of the tent, shaking her head, trying to make sense of what she saw. The woman was a stranger, why was she sitting on Leonhardt like that? Even more peculiar, why did it bother her so? Ellis felt the heat radiating from her cheeks and saw that her hands were shaking.

"What seems to be the matter, little one?" asked Vira-Lorr, lounging by the fire with a bowl of stew in hand.

"It's the syrium we rescued in Mimas," replied Ellis slowly, "She woke up and was... sitting on Leo, the two of them on the ground."

Vira-Lorr snorted, slopping some of the stew down her front. Chuckling uncontrollably, she teased back, "So he prefers women of strong character! I could have guessed he'd prefer to be on the bottom. Well, well, that was sooner than even I predicted!" Seeing Ellis's frown, however, she sobered, if only slightly, "Ellis, worry not my little one, it was only a misunderstanding between the two. Now, come, sit with an old woman by the fire and have some stew. You are far too young to be behaving like the jealous type."

Ellis's face brightened, though confusion lingered behind her eyes as she heeded Vira-Lorr's advice and joined her.

Though the oneltes woman's binocular eyes shone with warmth, her third eye peered ceaselessly into the clouds of the future. _Ellis, my dear, your love for Leonhardt is fated to never be, though you are too young to know it now. I wish I could spare you this heartbreak, but I am afraid Fate is a far crueler mistress than I. Yet, for his destiny will be shared by his one love, perhaps your curse is as much a blessing in its own right. When he is gone, I shall watch you, little one, as my own, until you find another man as worthy as he. This, I swear."_


	4. Zerva

**Jordan, I deliberately changed Vira-Lorr's character a little since she seemed way too cool to have her hands tied like she had in the game. I'm looking forward to exploring her relationship with Dyshana as time goes on, but that's a story for the future. On the topic of relationships, the "organic development" I wrote about last time will certainly be influenced by my own opinions and perceptions of the three women, but since I am, indeed, an organic being, I think that it should be ok, the relationships should still feel natural. Finally, you may rest assured that I will certainly be filling in the gaps left by the end of the generation scenes (or the lack thereof) in the game. **

**Mr Skrah, thanks for your vote of confidence! You two too November 18th and 19th guests! November 19th, I aged Melchior because I was drunk on creative power. And it seemed to make more sense to me to not have a 20 year old as the secretary of defense as it were.**

**mega-dark, thanks, although there were a few more brief original scenes than the ones you mentioned. At any rate, I anticipate there being more original stuff as the story moves on and more characters get on board, so hang tight.**

**Everyone enjoy Chapter 4, looking forward to hearing your thoughts.**

* * *

Puteaux turned out to be a charming hamlet nestled deep within the Frontier. Sufficiently out of the way, Leonhardt guessed that the refugees they had followed to the town would be safe, at least for a time. The townsfolk had been more than gracious, welcoming the Mimas refugees with open arms, many of them hosting surviving families under their own roofs. Leonhardt's heart warmed to see such altruism; there was hope after all for humanity.

Fyuria had taken her leave of the party to seek out any surviving members of her scouting party, leaving Leonhardt with a strangely empty feeling; he had come to enjoy the woman's company. Their initial misunderstanding clearly in her mind, she had taken pains to distance herself from him, but he somehow found that endearing. On the road to Puteaux, she had proven herself to be an aloof, but trustworthy member of the party whom he was as comfortable with at his back as with Ellis or anyone else.

Walking through Puteaux, he restocked his pack with various supplies and gave a spare gold piece to Ellis to buy herself a snack. As the girl streaked off with Bognine and Dyshana at her heels, Leonhardt felt himself drift into a tavern on the main street. As his eyes adjusted to the dark of the establishment, he saw that Vira-Lorr had already beaten him to a table. The oneltes woman was sitting alone, sipping pensively at her drink.

"Do you already know if I'm going to sit down?" joked Leonhardt as he drew up to her table.

With a disarming wink, Vira-Lorr kicked out a seat for him. "Certainly. You would not have come in if you did not want a drink, no? As for whether you sit or not, courtesy dictates that the lady chooses her company, not the other way around. So yes, I do know."

"Perhaps it was my destiny after all," teased Leonhardt as he took the proffered seat, "Maybe you can tell me what drink I am fated to enjoy the most here."

Vira-Lorr tossed her head back, laughing, "Leo, your words are deeper than you know. Listen carefully, I will share a secret. Although your destiny is set in stone, the path you take and the choices you make to reach it are yours alone. No man nor God can take your free will from you. So although you and I are fated to share a drink, the choice of your poison rests upon your shoulders."

"In that case and since your cup runs empty… two honey meads please," he indicated to a passing waitress. Then, noticing a familiar silhouette at the tavern entrance, "Make that three."

The barmaid nodded and left to fetch their drinks while Fyuria snaked through the bar's patrons, making a beeline for Vira-Lorr's table. Despite her lithe build, she was finding it difficult to make progress owing to being suddenly surrounded by half the bar's very male patronage. Leonhardt's face hardened as he noticed several wandering sets of eyes and hands in the throng surrounding Fyuria and he stood, setting his hand on the pommel of his blade. A sudden shriek from one of the men caused the crowd to collectively jump back, affording Fyuria a suddenly wide berth. The syrium had casually broken the finger of a hand that had strayed too close to her body. As she continued on, unhurriedly, the gentle hum of the bar returned and its patrons turned back to their drinks, clearly satisfied that Fyuria was uninterested.

"My kind of woman," muttered Leonhardt, sitting down once again.

Vira-Lorr merely smiled as Fyuria took a seat and the drinks arrived.

The two women and Leonhardt looked at one another, each unsure how to break the silence. Fyuria finally cleared her throat and said, "I… I ran into Dyshana outside in the marketplace. She wishes me to continue traveling with you."

"I sense your inner conflict on the matter," remarked Vira-Lorr.

"Your cause is noble, I have no doubt that Leonhardt truly seeks redemption and absolution for his part as a Gridamas general," replied Fyuria, skirting the issue.

"Though his battle against Gridamas is a personal one, it is part of his greater destiny to fight the dark forces that threaten to consume your lands," came a voice. Dyshana had appeared, as though from thin air, settling in the final empty chair at the table. Many of the bar patrons continued to give Leonhardt's table furtive and envious looks from the corners of their eyes.

"So you say. I have long hated Gridamas for what they have done to my people, but even I have a hard time believing they would consort with the beasts of darkness," said Fyuria with skepticism.

"Believe what you will," said Leonhardt, staring into his mead, "But before I had successfully rescued Ellis and escaped from my own men, I fought a man, nay, an entity with a strange power beyond anything I have ever felt. He was an agent of the dark forces, I am sure, working with the head of the Gridamas military, Melchior Klavis."

Fyuria considered his words, finally shaking her head, "I know not of forces of darkness, but your fight against Gridamas is enough for me. Leonhardt, I yet owe you a debt for my life. As my men are nowhere to be found, and I, likely presumed dead, I would travel with you for a time longer."

"Then call me Leo," answered Leonhardt with a smile. The three toasted, draining their mead as Dyshana looked on and nodded with approval.

Leaving the tavern, Leonhardt and the women found Borgnine and Ellis, the latter's pockets bulging with sweets. It had been a long day and Leonhardt was looking forward to a night spent in an actual bed, rather than in camp. As the troupe headed towards the inn, they were stopped by a messenger wearing a green cloak.

"Leonhardt! At last, we meet. My name is Isor, from Dodone. I was charged to deliver this message to you," said the man.

Leonhardt took the letter, "Thank you, friend. You look weary."

"You speak true. I nearly killed my horse riding here; Teonor and Yulia said it was imperative for you to receive the letter as soon as humanly possible," said the haggard man.

"Then take this for your trouble; it should be enough to buy a hot meal and a bed for you and care for your mount," said Leonhardt, handing the man a small pouch of coin.

Leonhardt broke the letter's wax seal and read its contents to the group in the light of the setting sun.

"Zelzagun Fortress?! The syrium mean to march on one of the most heavily defended Gridamas holds with only 5,000 untrained men?" asked Leonhardt, shocked.

"They are hardly untrained! Many of them have been fighting Gridamas incursions since they were young! They will also be joined by others from the Frontier that fight for our independence" said Fyuria defensively, though what little color she normally had had drained from her face.

"They will be slaughtered if they are encircled, just like the resistance army Gridamas defeated south of Dodone," said Vira-Lorr gravely.

Leonhardt winced, "So this is Gridamas's plan. They advance across the entire frontier, appearing as though they are stretched to the breaking point. Once the syrium have been lured from their forests, Gridamas means to spring their trap and annihilate any resistance. This leader of theirs, his men may have confidence in him as the letter says, but he is too hotheaded and ambitious for his own cause. His numbers will be of no avail against Zelzagun's defenses and once the rest of Gridamas's armies tighten their lines, there will be no escape."

"Then we must do as Grandfather says!" exclaimed Ellis, "We need to find the syrium and stop their attack on Zelzagun!"

"Zerva… what are you thinking" asked Fyuria under her breath, visibly shaken by the news in the letter.

Leonhardt did not blame her, 5,000 of her kinsmen marched to certain death. "Zerva?"

"The leader of the Syrium Army, he is my brother and chief of our tribe," Fyuria said.

"Then with you at our side, we may have a chance of gaining audience with him. Perhaps it was your fate to journey with us after all," mused Leonhardt. "We must make haste. Perhaps we may yet be in time to stop their assault. Night is upon us, we must rest while we can. We make for Zelzagun Fortress at daybreak."

* * *

Leonhardt and the others arrived at Zelzagun, taking in the bleak landscape and the inhospitable field of packed dirt that surrounded the fortress. Built to withstand simultaneous attack from all sides and with the intention of holding up any army advancing into Gridamas until reinforcements arrived, the fortress was an intimidating marvel of engineering.

"We are too late, the battle has been joined!" cried Fyuria, dismayed.

"It seems the engagement has only just begun, we may make a difference yet if we can convince Zerva to withdraw his forces," said Leonhardt, steadying her.

Below its massive walls, Zelzagun's garrison clashed with the syrium besieging it. The sounds of battle rang in Leonhardt's ears and the stench of death descended upon the field like a noxious fog. As they watched, the Gridamas garrison withdrew to their fortress, pursued by the syrium. At the head of the syrium assault, a fierce man wielding a massive scythe as long as his body charged forward, leading his men and cutting down any Gridamas soldiers that stood their ground against him. Besides the man, a human mercenary wielding a firearm in one hand and magic spells with the other dispensed death with extreme prejudice, carving his own swath through the retreating Gridamas lines. Pushing forward, the two led the syrium army past the first of Zelzagun's massive gates.

"Fools, the garrison is feinting retreat!" exclaimed Leonhardt, "The syrium will be trapped; Zelzagun has more than one gate to the keep. As soon as enough men enter, they will close the gates, cutting off any escape."

Fyuria leapt forward, drawing her daggers and making to sprint towards the fighting, but Leonhardt, just barely, managed to grasp her arm, holding her back.

"How dare you lay hands on me! Release me at once! That syrium with the scythe is my brother, I must go to his side!" demanded Fyuria.

"We will all go, but you must calm yourself," said Leonhardt in a steady voice, "Running off by yourself will only put you in danger. If we go and fight together, we will have a much better chance of reaching Zerva alive."

"I don't need your protection, I can protect myself!" hissed Fyuria, wrenching her arm from Leonhardt's grasp. "What right do you have, imposing yourself on me like this? Were it not for Dyshana, you would not even have been able to protect anybody, not even Ellis, so don't you dare talk to me as though I need your shelter!"

"Fyuria, I know you find it difficult to trust me, but I swear I will take you to Zerva. I may not have been able to save anyone without the blessing of the Gods, but now that I have it, I beg you to let me lend you my strength. If we go together, we can yet save your people from the same defeat the Frontiersmen suffered."

Fyuria tossed her hair furiously, but took a deep breath and nodded all the same. "…Very well, but I will see that you keep your promise."

Leonhardt nodded back. "Of course. Everyone, stay together and keep your eyes open!" he said, drawing his blade and leading the group into the dust and heat of the battlefield.

Dust swirled around his boots as he ran towards the gatehouse, the others in tow. Many of the men remaining outside the gate were either wounded or part of the syrium reserve, watching out for attacks on their rear. Though a few syrium turned towards them in alarm, none of them attacked, allowing them to pass unmolested at the sight of Fyuria.

As they passed through the gatehouse, Leonhardt felt a moment of disquiet. If the guards lowered the gate before they convinced Zerva to marshal his men to retreat, they would all be trapped inside. In the courtyard, the fighting was intense as Leonhardt had seldom seen. The syrium fought with the anger and fury of a people long suppressed. As all syrium had a natural affinity for magic, Leonhardt saw scores of fallen Gridamas soldiers, their armor scarred by the magic elements. For all their fury, however, more soldiers from the garrison poured out into the courtyard, closing the gap and felling the syrium by sheer numbers.

Slashing and thrusting with his sword, Leonhardt led the group past a knot of Gridamas soldiers trying to bar their progress, running their leader through the midsection. To his side, Fyuria was again a blinding blur of motion as she dance and weaved past a soldier's long sword to sink her dagger through the man's chest. Both Vira-Lorr and Ellis concentrated on casting healing spells and urging the wounded to flee, angels on the battlefield for the fallen syrium. With a bellow, Borgnine rushed into the remaining defenders, who had formed up into a phalanx formation. Spears splintered and swords shattered against his rock hard skin as he smashed bodily into the formation. The men scattered in panic as Borgnine lashed out with his massive fists, caving in shields, armor, and men alike with his unstoppable blows.

Finally, the path to Zerva was clear. The syrium chieftain and his mercenary lieutenant had been surrounded by several Gridamas soldiers, but showed no fear.

"Gridamas swine! I have killed more of you than I can count, yet you continue to throw your bodies at me. Come then, I shall spill your blood until death comes to claim me!" he hissed, swinging his scythe in a lethal arc. The man standing next to him looked less enthusiastic at the prospect of death, but cocked his gun and held it up with a steady hand all the same.

"Zerva! Brother!" cried Fyuria, calling the attention of Zerva, the mercenary, and the Gridamas soldiers to her arrival with Leonhardt and the rest.

"F-Fyuria?! Is that you?!" asked Zerva, shock in his eyes.

Recognition also flashed in the Gridamas soldiers' eyes, "G-Golden Leo!" one of them exclaimed, fear etched across his face. Literally dropping their weapons, the soldiers fled the sight of Leonhardt's golden blade.

"What trickery is this?!" demanded Zerva, "Dishonorable scum, taking a woman hostage! I shall have your head, human!"

"Golden Leo, hmm?" mused the mercenary, "I was not expecting such a boon, but perhaps it is my good fortune the Gridamas general shows his face on the field. I confess this is not the revenge I imagined, but it will be sweet all the same to take your life!"

"No, Zerva, it is not what you think. Leonhardt is-" began Fyuria, but Leonhardt never heard what she thought he was as the two men launched their assault. Dodging both bullets from the mercenary's gun and Zerva's massive scythe, Leonhardt ducked and rolled instinctively. Both men were dangerous from a distance, but Leonhardt suspected their advantage would diminish the closer he got to them. Taking advantage of their momentary distraction as Vira-Lorr and Ellis staggered them with impulse spells, Leonhardt raced towards the mercenary, dodging two badly aimed shots and deflecting another with the flat of his blade. Leaping into the air, he brought his sword down on the man, narrowly missing his gun arm. Relentlessly, Leonhardt drove forward, his blade a blur of motion, refusing to allow the mercenary the opportunity to open the gap or reload his weapon. Any ordinary man would have fallen to Leonhardt's onslaught long ago, but the mercenary dodged and weaved with equal speed to Leonhardt's own. Using the barrel of his gun, the mercenary dueled as effectively as if he had a sword, parrying Leonhardt's blade and firing off an endless stream of magical spells, forcing Leonhardt to go on the defensive more than once. What power the man drew his strength from Leonhardt had no idea, but it was clear that the mercenary had found divine blessing as Leonhardt had.

From the corners of his eyes, Leonhardt could see that nearly the entire courtyard had been filled with syrium, it would not be long before the Gridamas garrison sprung their trap. Desperate to end the duel, Leonhardt switched to an aggressive overhead stance, raining blow after blow down on the mercenary. Forcing the mercenary to take step after step back, Leonhardt finally had the advantage. Bulling forward, he sent the man sprawling to the ground, kicking the pistol out of his hand and pointing his blade at the man's throat.

Behind him, Zerva was a whirlwind of lethality, his scythe's blade shining wickedly through the dust of the battle. Dodging spells from both Ellis and Vira-Lorr, the syrium raced towards Leonhardt with singular purpose in his eyes. Snarling as he conjured flames from his hand, Zerva let lose with a blistering stream of magic fire. As the flames raced towards him, Leonhardt knew there was not enough time to disengage and braced himself for the worse. Sensing his distraction, the mercenary rolled out from under his blade and fled the battle, leaving Leonhardt to his fate. From his left, however, Fyuria suddenly dodged into sight. Leaping in the path of the fire, Fyuria let loose with her own magic, radiating holy magic from her fingertips. The two spells met barely half a foot from her fingers, ricocheting off one another and slamming into the fortress' battlements, sending mortar and men flying.

"Brother! Stop this fighting at once, he is not our enemy! Look around you! If we do not stop and leave now, everyone will die, just like before!" shouted Fyuria with tears in her eyes as the flames cleared.

"Fyuria…" said Zerva, the fight leaving his eyes after seeing how his sister had risked her life for Leonhardt.

"Zerva, I presume?" said Leonhardt. "Our time is short, you must gather your men and retreat before they are all trapped here. The commanding officer of Zelzagun means to trap some of you with the gates and to encircle the rest of your host. As we speak, other battalions undoubtedly march at double time to cut off any retreat your men may have. Marshal what forces you have left in this courtyard and have them guard the rear as the rest of your army withdraws from this fortress."

Zerva's eyes narrowed as he scowled, "Do not think I trust you yet, human."

"Of course not," said Leonhardt nodding, "You do this for Fyuria, yes? It makes no difference to me, so long as your men reach safety in time."

Zerva said nothing, only looking towards Fyuria. "Brother, do as he says. He has not led me false yet," she urged.

"…Very well," agreed Zerva, finally admitting that his men would likely fail to take Zelzagun even if they stayed. Pulling a horn from his belt, Zerva blew three mournful notes, signaling for his forces to retreat.

Confusion and panic ensued as the syrium began to stream through the gates of Zelzagun in reverse, disengaging from the Gridamas garrison, still firing spells from their hands as they backed up. Leonhardt looked up to the battlements and saw men in Gridamas uniforms running, shouting to each other. Although the syrium were now retreating in earnest, the garrison still hoped to trap a significant number within the walls of Zelzagun. "More time... we need more time," muttered Leonhardt to himself. There was no other way, he would need to prevent the garrison from lowering the gates at the gatehouse. "Zerva, Fyuria your men need you. Get to the gates, organize a rear guard and see the rest of your men out."

Zerva nodded and took off immediately while Fyuria opened her mouth, conflict in her eyes. Before she had the chance to utter her words, however, a gong rang in the distance, undoubtedly signaling to the gatehouse crew that the garrison commander had ordered the gates closed. With the shadow of regret behind her eyes, Fyuria turned and ran after her brother wordlessly.

Turning to his remaining comrades, Leonhardt spoke quickly in a tone that brooked no argument. "Vira-Lorr, Dyshana, take Ellis, keep her safe, get her out of here! Borgnine, I need you below the gates. Should they close, you must hold them up as best you can, whatever time you can buy us may make the difference."

"No! We won't leave you, Leo!" shouted Ellis, planting her feet firmly.

"There is no time for argument! You must trust me, Ellis. Go now, I shall follow once you are all safe, just like before," urged Leonhardt.

"Child, he is right, we must leave now. Have Borgnine do as Leo said," ordered Dyshana setting a hand on Ellis's shoulder. "Do not worry, you shall be able to see Leonhardt even outside the walls."

Ellis nodded, "Very well, but I won't leave Zelzagun without Leo. Borgnine, do as Leo commanded."

The four of them disappeared after Zerva and Fyuria into the dust and chaos, leaving Leonhardt alone. Taking a deep breath, Leonhardt raced to the wall. The gate mechanism would undoubtedly be controlled at the top of the gatehouse, but to fight his way past the dozen men inside who protected the gate mechanism would take too long to make any difference to the syrium still in the courtyard. At the wall, Leonhardt spied a crane with a load of stone in its sling. Seizing the anchoring rope with his free arm, he swung his blade at the rope's base, cutting the stone load free. As the crane's load plummeted to the ground, Leonhardt felt his body jerked upwards with the rope, nearly wrenching his arm from his socket. Refusing to let go, Leonhardt gritted his teeth against the sudden wind of acceleration and allowed himself to be hurled upwards to top of the wall.

Climbing over, Leonhardt spotted the door to the top of the gatehouse and rushed to it. Kicking it down with a thunderous crash, Leonhardt quickly assessed the situation. The syrium had taken the gatehouse at the start of the battle, but had been overwhelmed by the dozens of Gridamas soldiers who had responded to the garrison commander's signal. Both syrium and human bodies laid strewn in all manners of death, but the humans had what they came for. Time slowed to a crawl for Leonhardt as he saw a Gridamas sergeant reach out a gloved hand to pull the gate release lever.

Feeling a burning energy build inside, Leonhardt launched himself forward, sprinting past two surprised sentries and cleaving the sergeant's outstretched arm just as the man's fingers tightened around the lever. A lethal blur, Leonhardt fought as he never had, sliding his blade into another man before the Gridamas soldiers could even react. Swords clashing in a nightmare tableau of sparks and lethal edges, Leonhardt dueled three men simultaneously, defending the lever from any attempt to pull it. Panting, Leonhardt knew he was reaching the end of his endurance, but refused to withdraw; each second he kept the gate open was another dozen men past the trap that Gridamas had set.

Without warning, Leonhardt felt something slam into his shoulder, throwing him completely off balance. Looking down in surprise, he saw the shaft of a quivering arrow that had buried itself into him. A rivulet of red trickled from the wound accompanied by a blossom of intense pain that sent him gasping for air. Time slowed once again as another arrow flew true, slamming into Leonhardt's chest, missing his heart by an inch. Feeling the force of the arrow radiating through his body, Leonhardt fell back, pitching out of the gatehouse window and plummeting to the ground below. The last he saw of the gatehouse, the remaining soldiers inside crowded around the lever mechanism; he did not remember hitting the ground.

* * *

Outside the walls, the syrium were in full retreat, even the rear guard filing out of the gate now. Biting her nails, Ellis watched the gate nervously, waiting for Leonhardt's white coat to appear from beyond Zelzagun's walls at any moment.

Eyes wide, Ellis watched in horror as the massive gates of Zelzagun suddenly plummeted to the ground, grinding to a halt as it met Borgnine's resistance. The demi-god gritted his teeth and bellowed against the sudden, incredible load, but held fast, allowing the terrified syrium rear guard to continue their flight.

"Go, go!" screamed a familiar voice, "Stop fighting and get out!" Fyuria, covered in dust with blood weeping from a wound to her shoulder stood with the last of the rear guard, unwilling to retreat before all her men had managed to do the same. The syrium broke ranks, making for the gate. For a moment, Ellis's heart lifted, they were all going to make it!

Suddenly, to her right, Dyshana gave a small gasp, clutching at her chest. "LEO!" screamed Ellis, realizing the significance of Dyshana's pain. Looking up, she saw Leonhardt's emerge, not from the gate, but from the gatehouse's upper window, two arrows plunged into his torso. "NO!" she screamed as Leonhardt's wounded body fell to the earth below. "SAVE HIM!"

Hearing his master's shriek, Borgnine let fall the gate without a moment's hesitation and leapt catching Leonhardt and cradling him to his body to break the fall. Together the two tumbled into the ground in a plum of dust. Getting to his feet, Borgnine's eyes met those of Fyuria's and several dozen men that remained of the syrium rear guard who remained trapped inside Zelzagun's walls. The men's eyes betrayed their horror as they gazed upon the freedom that cruelly tempted them from beyond the gate's bars. Fyuria's eyes, however, fell on Leonhardt's limp body and the two arrows that sunk into his chest.

"No…" she whispered, eyes wide, as Borgnine bowed his head and ran back to Ellis, sensing her call.

Cradling Leonhardt's body from any arrows that flew their way, Borgnine charged after the fleeing syrium, his master's connection guiding him forward. Behind him, the sounds of the remaining syrium's last stand fell silent, one blade at a time.


	5. Zelzagun

**Hey everyone, sorry for the lack up updates recently. This chapter was a doozy to write and took me a lot longer than I expected. Being in medical school doesn't help either. OK, Q&A (which is always fun for me): Assassin's Creed is a pretty awesome game, so yes, glad some of you were reminded of that. It's pretty hard for me to come up with a personal favorite from generation 1; I think all three of the ladies are fantastic in their own ways. I know that's not much of an answer, but it's all I got. Other than that, thanks to everyone for leaving their thoughts and please enjoy the update!**

* * *

The sun was already half sunk beyond the horizon as the syrium assembled at their retreat point on a plain several miles from Zelzagun to reorganize their scattered ranks, Zerva and his lieutenants leading the effort. Ellis and the others had mounted a small hill overlooking the syrium army to await Borgnine's return. In silence, the three women stared out at the distance until Borgnine's massive silhouette appeared from between the syrium ranks. As he approached, Ellis saw the grim expression that the demi-god wore and felt her heart sink.

A gasp of horror escape from her lips as Borgnine laid Leonhardt on the ground. Leonhardt's coat was now more red and black than white. In stark contrast, the pallor of his face was a deathly pale. His eyes fluttered as he straddled the twilight between consciousness and oblivion, life and death. Tears dropped from Ellis's eyes as her trembling fingers found the arrows that had embedded themselves deep in Leonhardt's chest. Beneath her hand, she could feel Leonhardt's chest rising and falling in short, pained breaths.

Her touch seemed to rouse Leonhardt slightly from his stupor. As his eyes opened wider, Ellis could see the pain and confusion that clouded them. One of his hands, trembling, closed around her own, cold and weak. "Ellis…" he breathed before being wracked by a wet cough, blood and foam trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Leo! I-It's going to be alright. I- I can heal you!" said Ellis desperately, as much to herself as to Leonhardt. Pressing her hands together, Ellis felt holy magic flow from her fingers, weaving together into a healing spell. Crying harder than ever, Ellis pressed her hands to Leonhardt's chest, feeling the magic sink in.

"Child, he is beyond healing spells now…" said Vira-Lorr sadly, putting her hand on Ellis's shoulder.

Looking down at Leonhardt's body, Ellis could see that her spell could not even staunch the flow of blood, Leonhardt looked closer to death than ever. "Dyshana, you can help him! Bring Leo back again!" demanded Ellis, refusing to give up, but the woman only shook her head.

"No! I don't believe that!" said Ellis, almost screaming. "Leo! LEO! You can't leave me like this!" Tears splashed down Ellis's face in earnest now, raining down on Leonhardt's wounds. His fingers closed around her hand and she saw that he was struggling to speak. Lowering her pointed ear to his lips, she could barely make out his pained voice.

"Ellis… I'm so sorry," he whispered almost inaudibly.

"Leo…" Ellis sobbed, "Don't go…"

A shade of a smile ghosted across his cracked lips, "It's alright… I have done this before and, this time, I know you and everyone else are safe at least."

"We're not ALL safe!" screamed Ellis at him as his eyelids dropped shut, "Fyuria was trapped behind the gate, I saw it through Borgnine's eyes!"

"Child! Don't be cruel! He is not long for this world," scolded Vira-Lorr harshly. "Would you have his last moments be ones of agony?"

"Can you hear me?!" demanded Ellis, ignoring Vira-Lorr; she did not care how heartless it was, she would say anything to keep Leonhardt for another moment. "Fyuria was left behind, we still need you!"

Leonhardt's eyes fluttered open, but his lips moved soundlessly save for a choking gurgle. His chest heaved, but his blood pooled only deeper from between the arrows.

Bitterness and despair welled up in Ellis's chest as she looked down at Leonhardt as he struggled harder than ever to draw breath. A fury born of jealousy burned from deep within her chest; that she needed to evoke a stranger's name, a woman whom they owed nothing, to keep Leonhardt anchored to the mortal plane brought forth a torrent of emotion as Ellis had never felt. Looking down at her bloodstained hands, she saw her fingers trembling.

A warmth snaked down her arms, coursing along her veins, radiating from her chest. The heat built, becoming a roiling fire, drawing from her pain and grief. "W-what is this…?" she whispered.

"Gods…" whispered Vira-Lorr, backing away from Ellis, the others following suit.

From under her feet, a soft, blue pool of light had formed, slowly expanding until its boundaries had enveloped both Ellis and Leonhardt's fallen form. Raising her hands to her eyes, Ellis saw that the same light had begun to dance at her fingertips. Feeling the heat build within her, concentrating at her hands, she understood that she had tapped into a well of magic she had never known. Closing her eyes and holding her arms out, Ellis let herself become a conduit for the magic, coaxing it forward in earnest. Then, kneeling beside Leonhardt, Ellis set both her hands upon his chest, one beside each arrow. A cone of light burst from the edges of the ritual circle, obscuring the two from Vira-Lorr, Dyshana, and Borgnine.

Outside the wall of light, the still air of the evening whipped into sudden, unpredictable gusts, buffeting Vira-Lorr, Borgnine, and Dyshana as they shielded their eyes against the intensifying glow of Ellis's magic.

"What manner of magic is this?" shouted Vira-Lorr over the wind.

Eyes wide, Dyshana replied, "Of all the races that walk Agarest's soil, the high elves have always had the greatest affinity for magic. Ellis is the only remaining high elf, she carries in her blood the collective wisdom and strength of her entire people. This is a power rivaling that of a God…"

"A power over life and death…" whispered Vira-Lorr as the light faded and the ritual boundary dissolved into a hundred motes of faint light that slowly winked out of existence one at a time.

Before them, illuminated by the light of the dissipating magic energies, Ellis still knelt by Leonhardt, who remained laying on the ground. Silence hung heavily as all eyes watched Leonhardt for any sign of life.

A sudden, rasping gasp cut across the hilltop as Leonhardt's eyes flew open and he drew breath.

"I… don't believe it," said Vira-Lorr, stepping closer, "Leo, are you alright?"

Still gasping, Leonhardt looked up at Ellis, closing his hands around hers on his chest. "E-Ellis? What's going on, where am I?" he asked, completely disoriented. "Ellis!" he shouted as the elven girl rolled to the ground, unconscious.

"It's alright," said Vira-Lorr soothingly, pushing Leonhardt back to the ground as he struggled to rise, "Ellis just saved your life… the amount of magic she channeled to heal your wounds must have taken a toll on her, she will recover in time." Regarding him with a clinical eye, she asked "Do you remember anything of the battle?"

"I… remember… Did all the syrium escape?" asked Leonhardt as Vira-Lorr examined Ellis.

Satisfied that the girl was simply unconscious from exertion, Vira-Lorr turned to Leonhardt, a sad expression on her face, "Almost. Borgnine was the last to leave the battle, through his eyes, Ellis saw that some of the rear guard were trapped… Fyuria among them."

"No…" said Leonhardt, then gritting his teeth, he made to stand on his feet.

"Don't even think about it," cautioned the oneltes woman sternly, placing her hand upon his shoulder. "Ellis did not bring you back from the twilight of death only to have you throw it away on a suicide mission. How can you even be sure that she yet lives?"

"I can't," said Leonhardt, brushing Vira-Lorr's hand away and rising unsteadily, "but if there is one thing I have learned from nearly dying twice, it is that we can never afford to give up hope. I must go back, no matter how slim the chances may be."

"Look at you!" insisted Vira-Lorr as Leonhardt collapsed to one knee, winded by the mere effort of standing, "How can you hope to save anyone in your condition? You are barely alive yourself!"

"Then help me," he said through gritted teeth, "You know of healing magic and blessings as well."

"Are all men as stubborn as you?" hissed Vira-Lorr, but she relented, weaving her own spell between her fingers, "Even my magic can only heal so much; your body needs time and rest, even if you won't admit it."

"I understand," said Leonhardt, feeling life flow back into his veins and the pain fade to a dull discomfort as Vira-Lorr pressed her hands to his chest. "Thank you."

"I hope you know your limits better than I do," she replied grimly.

"You must take care of Ellis for me and see that she receives my gratitude when she awakes. I will make for Zelzagun immediately," said Leonhardt, ignoring Vira-Lorr's disapproving expression.

"I will go as well," said Borgnine, surprising both Vira-Lorr and Leonhardt. The demi-god had never before volunteered to do anything, even to help set camp, without an express command from Ellis. Seeing both their surprise, he explained, "Their faces… I cannot forget them."

"You… feel guilty?" ventured Leonhardt.

"Yes. I could not disobey my master's call. As her only concern was for you, I left the others to their fate. If there are any that still live, I must do what I can for them," said Borgnine, his head bowed.

Leonhardt nodded, "Of course. I would be glad for your assistance. Thank you Borgnine."

"Leonhardt!" Zerva's voice alerted the group to his presence as he materialized out of the dark. "My scouts said you were slain… how is it that you yet live?"

"An exaggeration," said Leonhardt wearily as Zerva eyed the bloodstains on his coat with skepticism.

"Where is my sister?" he asked in a dangerously low voice, having taken a head count of the group.

"Fyuria and the remainder of the rear guard were cut off during the retreat… they were left behind at Zelzagun," answered Leonhardt.

"Coward!" shouted Zerva as he lunged forward, murder in his eyes. His scythe flashed as he brought it to bear on Leonhardt.

Deftly drawing his own blade, Leonhardt parried Zerva's strike, throwing the man off balance. The two once again clashed, this time locking blades, sending sparks flying. "A fine way to repay her for saving your life, leaving her to die at the blades of Gridamas!" Zerva hissed, his face inches away from Leonhardt's, contorted in fury.

"Enough!" shouted Leonhardt, pushing back with a burst of strength that surprised even himself, staggering Zerva and forcing him to take a step back. "Your anger and lust for revenge is what brought us all to mortal peril in the first place! You attack now without the facts as you did at Zelzagun. Borgnine and I intend to return to Zelzagun; if Fyuria yet lives, we will not leave without her. If you wish to be of use, save your blade for those who would harm her."

The fire dimmed in Zerva's eyes as he lowered his scythe, breathing hard. "Do not think you have yet earned my trust, human," he spat.

"Your trust is irrelevant. We both desire the same thing; Fyuria's safe return."

Zerva nodded and the two men sheathed their weapons simultaneously, setting aside their differences for the time being. Wordlessly, Leonhardt nodded his thanks at Vira-Lorr as she tended to Ellis and led the other two back towards Zelzagun, determination blazing in his eyes.

* * *

Fyuria awoke, gasping and choking wetly as a bucket of cold water doused her, cruel laughter reaching her ears. Her entire body was wracked with breathtaking pain as she struggled to draw breath. Beneath her, cold, unyielding stone pressed mercilessly against her body. Opening her eyes, she struggled to gain her bearings, taking in her surroundings.

She laid on the floor of a tiny, stone-walled cell, filthy with decades of neglect, having clearly been tossed in unconscious. Instinctively, she reached for her blades, only to find that her hands had been manacled together by heavy irons. From the discomfort at her ankles, her legs had clearly been restrained as well. Raising her head, she felt sudden pain as her neck jerked against sudden resistance; a collar and chain held her to a locked bolt on the ground, allowing her a mere foot of slack.

"Hello, hello, my pretty. Did you sleep well?" said the soldier with the bucket, grinning evilly. Entering the cell, he dropped the bucket with a thud and stood, towering over Fyuria, who instinctively pushed herself as far away from him as her chains would allow.

"Is that any way for a thankful guest to behave?" taunted the man, grabbing the chain leading to the iron collar around Fyuria's neck, pulling her towards him painfully.

Snarling, Fyuria lunged forward as best she should, fighting back in the only way left to her. She sunk her teeth into the man's gauntlet as hard a she could, trying to bite into a gap between the metal plates. The soldier's free hand swung back and delivered a furious backhand, causing black stars to burst into Fyuria's vision as she slammed into the floor, tasting blood in her mouth.

She felt the man's weight crush down upon her as he straddled her. Fyuria writhed furiously, but could gain no leverage against the soldier as he bore down upon her. One of his gauntleted hands closed around her jaw, slowly squeezing with relentless pressure and forcing her mouth open. Panic flooded through Fyuria, who screamed out in fear and pain. The man's mouth roughly descended on hers, his filthy whiskers scratching her face and his revolting breath sending a wave of nausea through her. Gagging as the man's tongue plunged into her mouth, Fyuria tried to no avail to clamp her jaw shut. The horror of her situation dragged the moment on infinitely until the soldier broke contact, grinning lecherously and wiping his lips obscenely.

"Mm, you taste good," he growled as his comrades laughed rancorously behind him. "But business before pleasure; someone wants to talk to you. If you're a good little syrium bitch they might leave you intact enough for us to have a more romantic date…"

Venom in her eyes, Fyuria spat at the soldier's face, trying to rid her mouth of his vile taste, but he only laughed, unlocking her chain and pulling her like an animal to the door, her manacled legs dragging uselessly on the floor, unable to gain enough purchase to let her to her feet.

Even though the interrogation chambers were undoubtedly adjacent to the detention block, through the haze of her pain and disorientation, the hellish journey between the two seemed to drag on for hours to Fyuria, who felt each jerk of the chain and every abrasive scrape of the stone floor. Finally, nearly unconscious, she felt herself being hauled to her feet, only to be throne unceremoniously into a heavy wooden chair. Behind her, she felt the guards snake a heavy, rusted chain across her slim waist, ensuring her inability to rise from the seat; they left her manacles untouched.

"You'd better talk fast, bitch! I'll be waiting up for our _rendezvous_," chortled the head guard to the others' amusement as the lot of them turned and left, slamming the door behind them.

Fyuria let her shoulders drop and panted heavily, trying to recover from the arduous journey to her current predicament. Alone in the dark, she tried to gather her thoughts and find any bearing she could still cling to. Memories trickled back to her, painfully slow. The panic at Zelzagun, her insistence that Zerva lead the retreat while she commanded the rear guard, the fear and despair of being trapped behind Zelzagun's gates, Leonhardt's fall… Fyuria screwed her eyes against the pain, both physical and emotional.

She must have been knocked unconscious and captured by the garrison as they closed in on her and the unfortunates that remained in Zelzagun's courtyard. Fyuria cursed her fate under her breath, better to have died at the point of the sword than to be taken alive to face torture and rape in addition to inexorable death.

Steadying her breath, she raised her head to look around, shaking her head to clear the wet strands of hair that clung to her face. Aside from the dim contours of a crude desk in front of her and another chair beyond it for the interrogator, she could make out no details of the room. The darkness that permeated it enveloped her oppressively, a deliberate psychological weapon against the room's victims. Sniffing, she smelled dried blood; the pain and torment that the room had contained during its long history were almost palpable.

How long she sat there, she could not tell; time had lost all meaning in the isolation and darkness of her confines. Her restraints did not permit her to sit comfortably and she felt her arms, shoulders, and legs stiffen in increasing pain as the hours crawled by; the short chain dangling from the collar that hung heavily on her neck clinked with every move she attempted, an incessant reminder of her captivity.

Gritting her teeth, she steeled herself against the psychological assault her captors were attempting; whatever they wanted of her, they would have to take by force. Grimly, she resolved to do whatever was necessary; if she could take but a single Gridamas pig to the grave with her, she would find a small measure of peace in death.

* * *

Leonhardt, with Zerva and Borgnine in tow, raced for Zelzagun, plunging blindly into the night. With the dawn mere hours away, they had no time to lose; with the loss of night, they would also lose their only advantage of surprise. The men of Zelzagun would, hopefully, be flushed from their victory, celebrating within the safety of their massive walls. When men of uniform celebrated, liquor would flow, and Leonhardt fancied that he could smell the stench of spilled drink over blood-soaked ground long before Zelzagun's walls emerged out of the darkness. Feeling the muscles in his chest screaming in protest, Leonhardt knew that although the magic had saved his life, he was far from combat ready; there would be no heroic charge against suicidal odds this time; they would have to rescue Fyuria with wit and guile instead.

"And how are we three to get inside?" hissed Zerva as the three hid at the tree line between the forests and Zelzagun. "They will undoubtedly have sentries posted and the gates lowered."

"Not to worry, I know a thing or two about Gridamas victory celebrations…" said Leonhardt with a shadow of a smile, "We wait here, our ticket past those guards will be apparent soon enough."

True to his word, within minutes, a jingling sound emerged from the darkness of the forest and the faint light of a lantern bobbed merrily into view. Humming tunelessly and singing to himself to stave off the loneliness and terror of a forest at night, a lone merchant steered his cart and donkeys along the winding forest path. Motioning his comrades for silence, Leonhardt crept to a likely looking bush by the side of the path. As the cart rolled beside him, he leapt from his hiding place to deftly land on the seat beside the merchant. Gasping in shock, the merchant grabbed the reins of the donkeys, stopping the cart suddenly. Fumbling, he reached for a dagger at his side. Drawing his own, significantly larger, blade, Leonhardt cocked an eyebrow at the merchant who gulped and nodded, dropping the reins and the dagger from his trembling hands.

"My apologies, friend," said Leonhardt to the luckless merchant as Zerva dragged him from the driver seat to the ground and began binding him to tree at the side of the path.

Stuffing a gag into the man's mouth, Zerva asked, "How did you know he would come?"

By way of answering, Leonhardt grabbed the massive tarps that laid over the merchant's cart and pulling them aside to reveal an impressive cargo of liquor. "I had a feeling Zelzagun would begin to run dry tonight and merit an emergency resupply. Our friend here was looking to make a small profit off tonight's victory" Climbing into the cart, Leonhardt began clearing out a space hidden among the cargo, shifting boxes and barrels on top of one another, eventually resorting to tossing some out entirely when there was no longer space.

"Are you mad?!" demanded Zerva as Leonhardt threw one crate unceremoniously upon the ground, breaking its contents. "That was the forty year old single malt!" he said in disbelief as the crate leaked its contents into the ground.

Leonhardt cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I'd recognize that aroma anywhere…" said Zerva, breathing in deeply. "… not that it matters, carry on," he finished lamely, seeing Leonhardt's expression and remembering the mission at hand.

Finishing the space and satisfied that he and Zerva could crouch within it and be invisible to any soldiers casually inspecting the cart, Leonhardt turned to Borgnine. "Here, put this on," he said, tossing the giant one of the larger tarps.

Wearing the tarp like a cloak, hood pulled over his face, Borgnine could almost past for human, were it not for his massive, purple fists and distinct protrusions where his horns laid under the tarp.

"Good enough; men see what they want. Drunk men especially," declared Leonhardt, pushing Borgnine into the driver's seat. The entire cart creaked ominously under the load. "Borgnine, you must impersonate this merchant and get us past the gates. Zerva and I will bail out and find Fyuria and the others. Help the soldiers unload this cargo and await our return; once we have found them we can all smuggle our way back out on the same cart."

Borgnine nodded his understanding as Leonhardt joined Zerva between the liquor and wine casks, pulling the tarps back over them and the cargo.

* * *

Muscles screaming out for relief, Fyuria tried to think of anything to distract herself, but she kept flashing back to the afternoon's events. In her mind's eye, she watched the gates slam down in front of her face and Leonhardt falling from the gatehouse, arrows buried in his chest, over and over again. No man could hope to survive wounds such as those, never mind the fall that followed, but for one reason or another, Fyuria simply could not bring herself to believe that he was dead. There was something about the calm, confidence, and warmth that she remembered of him that gave her a small measure of courage to face her current predicament.

Strange that she would find such comfort from a human of all things. Was he not of the same ilk and blood as the brutes that had razed her village, putting her family and friends to the sword? Were humans not to blame for all the pain and suffering she had endured and for all that which she had lost in the world? Yet, when she thought of Leonhardt and the travels they had shared to date, the anger and thirst for revenge she had carried for so long seemed to lift, ever so slightly, off her chest. From beneath all the pain and hate, feelings she could not find words for, emotions she had buried so deeply threatened to burst forth. There was something special about Leonhardt and she wasn't entirely sure she understood what she had found beneath her personal crusade against humanity.

The sound of rusted hinges squealing shook Fyuria from her thoughts. Squinting against the sudden light of a torch, she saw a man wearing a commander's cape enter the room. Wordlessly, he swung a sack onto the table with a thud and set several items before her. Recognizing them as her daggers, Fyuria wondered if the man intended to torture her with her own blades.

"Oh, not to worry, my dear," said the commander, catching her gaze. Fyuria wrinkled her nose in distaste at the man's breath which stank of alcohol like an old stile. "We have other ways of getting you to talk, ways that don't leave any undesirable scarring. I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long, I was obliged to celebrate our victory with the men," he said with a belch.

Fyuria let her eyes convey the disgust and revulsion she felt, rather than give word to them directly.

"Now that I am here for our appointment, however, I was hoping you would be so kind as to share everything you know about your brother and his plans. Where will the syrium march next after the retreat?" asked the commander in a sarcastic show of courtesy.

"I know nothing of the sort," said Fyuria, "what would an ordinary soldier know of such plans?"

"Indeed, they would not, so I had your comrades executed. I have it on good authority, however, that you are not a common soldier, but rather the sister of the syrium chieftain who leads your forces," replied the commander with a twisted smile.

"Whose authority?" shot back Fyuria, hoping to call a bluff.

"His." The commander reached for the sack he had brought with him, upending its contents upon the table. A severed head tumbled out, its lifeless eyes staring into Fyuria's, pain etched upon its features.

"We have nothing to discuss," snarled Fyuria, looking away.

"I was afraid we'd have to do this the hard way," sighed the commander, clicking his fingers.

The door groaned open once more, this time admitting two burly soldiers who lifted the table out from between Fyuria and the commander. Leaving for a moment, they returned lugging a large vat, groaning and sweating from the effort. Water sloshed at the brim of the tub and onto the floor as they slammed it down in front of Fyuria's chair. One of the men produced a cloth hood from a pocket and pulled it over Fyuria's head, tightening the drawstrings at her neck. The other undid the chain restraining her to her chair and pushed her out of it before kicking it to the corner of the room. Together, the two men heaved Fyuria, who struggled with what little strength remained to her, towards the lip of the tub, forcing her to her knees in front of it.

Through the hood, Fyuria could hear the water sloshing and understood what the men intended. Feeling a hand press against the back of her head, she sucked in a deep breath.

"Last chance to talk…" came the commander's voice idly.

Giving them nothing but silence, Fyuria felt her head plunged forward into the water.

* * *

"Halt! Who goes there?" a soldier's voice demanded from above the walls.

"Mead, wine, and spirits," replied Borgnine's gravely voice.

"Nobody said anything about a shipment," came his partner's voice, thin and officious. "Besides, the men are already drunk beyond reason! This is hardly the way men of uniform should behave," he sniffed.

"Then I suppose I will turn and peddle my wares to another buyer," growled Borgnine, "It is a shame, I thought there were thirsty men here."

"There are! There are!" reassured the first soldier. "Wes, we've barely had a drop! Everyone else got to drink, but we're stuck here guarding the gate. It's injustice, I say, that we, also men of uniform, should be sober when our comrades are not! Can't you just write it off as a routine base resupply?"

"Forty year old single malt…" added Borgnine tantalizingly, remembering Zerva's words.

"Nice touch," whispered Leonhard from the cart.

"Wes! That's officer stuff, that is! Don't tell me you've never wanted a taste of promotion!"

"I… suppose…" answered Wes. "Alright, wait one moment!" he called out to Borgnine, disappearing into the gatehouse to activate the gate mechanisms.

As the gate lifted, Borgnine directed the mules into Zelzagun's courtyard, now littered with passed out men rather than the wounded and dead from the afternoon's battle. From a hole in the tarp, Leonhardt saw the two sentries and the gatehouse garrison empty out into the courtyard as well, some of them tripping slightly and swaying, lending some doubt to Wes's partner's story of sobriety.

"Offer a drink before unloading the carts!" hissed Leonhardt, surreptitiously passing Borgnine a crate of liquor through the tarp.

Halting the cart and getting up from his seat, Borgnine towered over the Gridamas soldiers. "Drink," he growled, holding out the crate stiffly.

The men stared at his massive purple fists with disbelief, some undoubtedly wondering whether anyone had spiked their previous drinks with something a little stronger than usual. The promise of premium liquor, however, proved to be too much and the soldiers relieved Borgnine of the crate, fumbling to crack it open.

"Ahhh… have you ever felt a burn so smooth, Gents?" asked the first sentry, taking a long pull straight from the bottle. Murmurs of assent went around the crowd as each man claimed a bottle for themselves, eagerly swigging spirits they could never hope to afford under normal circumstances.

"Just what I needed to forget the executions before dinner," hiccupped Wes, clearly the softest member of the group despite his rank, "Executing prisoners of war… what has Gridamas come to?"

"Boy, it's always been like this on the Frontier!" said one of the gatehouse guards harshly, taking a drunken swing at Wes, "If you give them the chance, the barbarians would skin you alive! I only wish they had let the woman swing too; she was a pretty one."

"Fyuria!" breathed Zerva and Leonhardt together, listening intently between the unloaded cargo.

"Not sure what the old man wants to do with her," commented another soldier, "Maybe we should go check in on her… show her a good time?"

Laughter erupted as the men continued to drink as though dying of thirst, "You wouldn't want to see what they're doing down in the dungeons, not unless you're into that sort of thing," replied the first man, pointing to a door at the far side of the courtyard with a trembling finger.

"Time to go," urged Leonhardt, slipping out of the far side of the cart with Zerva. The two silently padded across the courtyard, low to the ground, ducking from cover to cover. Although the men of Zelzagun were either asleep or drunk, it paid to have a measure of caution. Stepping past the sentries, asleep at their post, an empty hip flask between the two, Leonhardt and Zerva eased the door to the dungeons open and descended into the murky depths below.

* * *

The freezing cold of the water enveloped her, shocking the breath from her lungs. Involuntarily, her legs thrashed madly, but she felt one of the soldier's knees crush down, pinning them to the ground. Their four hands roughly held her shoulders and head down in the water as her entire body convulsed, desperate for breath. Unable to fight the instinct, Fyuria drew in, feeling the water pour down her mouth and into her lungs, setting them ablaze with pain, oddly at contrast with the cold that pierced her to the heart.

Breath after breath of water tore her lungs into a hundred ribbons of agony and Fyuria felt the life leaving her limbs as the men held her under. Eyes rolling into the back of her head, she felt her struggles grow progressively weaker. Suddenly, the pressure on her back and head released, allowing her to surge upwards. Gasping in deep, ragged breaths, Fyuria coughed and choked, bringing up mouthful after mouthful of water. Before she had fully regained her breath, however, the hands grabbed her once again and forced her back under. Again and again, the process continued until she had lost count and, perhaps, even consciousness, until the bag finally came off her head, allowing her to see her pale, deathly reflection as she knelt before the water. Her captor's face also swam into view, an expression of mock pity taunting her.

"Give her a break, gentlemen," he said as the two released her, allowing her to collapse weakly on the floor. "I couldn't help but notice, where did you get this fine blade?" he continued, making light talk.

Unable to reply, Fyuria only glared at him, struggling to cough up as much water as she could manage during the "break."

"This is House Raglan's seal, no? I hope you know that my men killed Golden Leo on the field today. We had his body burned with the rest of the garbage that we killed today."

"Liar," choked out Fyuria painfully, what little color remaining in her face draining away.

The commander chuckled, "It is of no consequence if you don't believe me, you shall see him soon enough at this rate. Speak the truth to me and I shall endeavor to make your death painless."

Seeing the look she gave him, he made a clucking sound in his throat and snapped his fingers, signaling for the torture to continue.

As the bag descended over her head and as she felt herself being dragged bodily towards the tub once again, Fyuria felt panic tear through her chest. At the top of her lungs, she screamed the first thing that came to mind, a desperate plea to the Gods against all odds with all that remained of her hope, "LEONHARDT!"

* * *

Grimly, Leonhardt and Zerva stalked down the dungeon hallways in silence. The entire cell block was deserted, the guards clearly having opted to join the festivities rather than hold their posts in an empty dungeon. Each taking one side, they peered into cell after cell, finding no sign of Fyuria or the others. Unspoken fears gnawed at both men, but neither was willing to call off the search first.

"Leonhardt!" hissed Zerva, "I hear something!"

Leonhardt strained to hear the sound that the syrium's sensitive ears had picked up. Rancorous and drunken laughter echoed softly, barely on the edge of perception.

Together, the two men hurried towards the sound. Having failed to find Fyuria and the others on their own, they had little choice but to confront the guards for information and make good their escape. Letting Zerva lead the way, Leonhardt momentarily clutched his chest as a spasm of pain rippled across. Gritting his teeth, he forced the pain from his mind and himself forward; whatever spell Vira-Lorr had cast upon him, it was quickly wearing off. Still, to ignore the signs completely would be foolish; he was in no shape to confront armed guards. Fortuitously, these guards were likely drunk beyond any reasonable measure to balance the terms of the engagement.

Nodding to one another, both Zerva and Leonhardt drew their weapons silently. With a swift kick, Zerva knocked the wooden door between the guard's office and the rest of the dungeon open with a crash. Leonhardt and Zerva stormed into the room, giving the guards and their wine-sodden reactions no time to counter their sudden attack.

Grabbing the nearest guard and pressing his scythe's blade to the man's neck, Zerva made his lethal threat more than clear. With his free arm, he conjured fire forth and sent it slamming into the guard on the far side of the room. The spell picked the man up bodily and threw him into the stone wall with a crunch, depositing him on the floor in a crumpled, smoldering heap. Seeing the remaining guard reaching for his weapon, Leonhardt kicked the man out of his chair and pressed a foot to his chest, pressing the point of his sword to the man's neck.

"Where are the syrium?" Leonhard demanded, his tone harsh and grating. Even the minor effort of incapacitating the drunk had taxed his weakened state to the limit.

"Hey, hey! Plenty of time for us all to play with her…" grumbled the drunk guard, clearly so inebriated as to mistaken Leonhardt and Zerva for other members of the garrison. "Besides, the old man's not done having his fun yet."

Ice flooded through Leonhardt's veins as he heard the drunk man giggle. What fate had his life cost Fyuria?

A sudden piercing scream caused both Leonhardt and Zerva to jerk their heads towards the far door. "LEONHARDT!"

"Fyuria!" breathed Leonhardt, who without a moment's hesitation leapt over the drunk guard's prone form towards the sound of her voice, closely followed by Zerva.

As he sprinted down the deserted corridor towards the door at the end, he felt the pain in his chest fully tear past Vira-Lorr's enchantement. Ligaments popped and his muscles screamed as he force himself to keep running, drawing ragged breath after breath despite the pain. Whatever he felt now, it was nothing to what he owed Fyuria.

"Out of the way!" yelled Zerva, a fire spell charging in his hands.

Leonhardt threw himself to the side of the corridor, but did not miss a single stride of his sprint. A flash of heat passed him on the side as the spell passed perilously close to him, slamming into the door and blasting it open, sending smoke and smoldering pieces of wood flying everywhere. Throwing himself through the smokescreen, Leonhardt's eyes fell upon the scene of Fyuria's predicament.

At the sight of her suffering, Leonhardt felt a rage burst from his chest, driving away all sensation of his injuries and pain. His sword flashed upwards in a lethal arc, splitting the first torturer's torso open in a single stroke. Before the man's scream had even escaped his lungs, Leonhardt's golden blade had already sunk into his partner's chest as the Spirit Vessel carried his momentum forward and plunged his sword downwards at a 45 degree angle. From the hall, another fire spell soared through the shattered doorway, squarely striking the garrison commander in the chest piece, knocking him to the ground. Relinquishing his grip on the pommel, Leonhardt let the man and his sword fall to the side as he rushed to Fyuria's side.

Tearing the sodden hood off her head, Leonhardt threw the thing in disgust into the corner of the room. Cradling her head, he brushed a strand of her blue hair behind a pointed ear, tenderly. The syrium's face was deathly pale, her lips a shade of blue. For a moment, Leonhardt feared that he and Zerva had been too late, but relief washed over him as Fyuria gave a weak cough and her eyes fluttered open.

"…Leonhardt?" she asked uncertainly, her fingers reaching for his face; her touch alarmingly cold.

"Fyuria… I'm so sorry," he replied. "What have they done to you?"

"…Nothing… I couldn't… handle…" she whispered, a ghost of a smile flitting across her lips as her fingers gently stroked down the side of his cheek. Eyes rolling backwards, she lapsed into unconsciousness.

"We need to get her back to the camp. Vira-Lorr and Ellis can heal her," said Leonhardt to Zerva tersely.

Setting Fyuria's head down gently, he straightened and stood, grabbing Fyuria's daggers from the table and approaching the garrison commander who laid defeated under Zerva's scythe. The man swallowed hard, fear in his eyes, as he looked up and saw no mercy behind Leonhardt's golden eyes. Even Zerva seemed impressed by the terrible and just fury that radiated from Leonhardt, stepping back from the commander.

"Please…" began the commander, but Leonhardt wordlessly plunged one of Fyuria's blades into the man's chest.

"It's more than you deserve," he said harshly as he watched life slip from the commander's eyes. "Demons and Fell Gods have no work on Agarest so long as men such as you live."

Returning the daggers to her possession and retrieving his own blade, Leonhardt picked Fyuria up, one arm under her knees, one arm cradling her head, her long mane of hair barely brushing the ground. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

The sun had just sent its first piercing rays over the horizon as a lone merchant cart shot out from the gates of Zelzagun at reckless speed, leaving behind the yelling and commotion of the hung over garrison. A few arrows flew after the cart, but missed wildly.

In the back of the now empty cart, Leonhardt allowed himself to finally slump against the wooden side of the vehicle. Carrying Fyuria back to the surface had taxed him to the limits and robbed him of what little strength remained in his body. With Zerva's need to be unencumbered lest they met resistance, Leonhardt had little choice but to dig deeper and find the strength to carry the both of them to safety. Now with Zelzagun fading into the distance, Leonhardt felt himself slipping into a stupor.

Beside him, Fyuria stirred weakly, awakened by a sudden bump in the road. Looking up, she saw Leonhardt's form swim into view. She screwed her eyes shut, barely daring to believe that she had escaped from the depths of Zelzagun. When she reopened them, the world seemed a little less blurry and she risked raising her head to take a better look at Leonhardt.

Blood stained his previously white coat, deep crimson, almost black. Her slender fingers trembling, she felt the holes which the arrows had made where they had wounded him, but when she poked deeper, they met with the unbroken skin of Leonhardt's chest. It was impossible, but Fyuria found herself uncaring. At that moment, nothing else mattered except that both she and Leonhardt were alive.

Gazing into the distance at the rising sun and the new day, Fyuria felt fatigue washing over her. Without thinking, she lay her head down on his chest by her hand. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took, a sense of peace she had never known took her by surprise as she drifted off to unconsciousness as well.


End file.
